


I, Magus: Memoirs of a Prophet

by Theheroshield



Series: The Magus Chronicles [2]
Category: Chrono Trigger
Genre: Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-11
Updated: 2015-01-27
Packaged: 2018-02-17 00:50:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 56,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2290892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theheroshield/pseuds/Theheroshield
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We all have a past. We all make mistakes. We all have regrets. But what if you could go back in time, to the point when it all went wrong...? This is the story of Magus the Prophet...His tragedy, his triumph, and the ultimate choice--ambition or love?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

_I, Magus of Zeal Kingdom, do hereby declare this the formal memoirs of my history. Furthermore, I have entitled, by my hand, the bearer of this manuscript to exhibit it, at liberty, under the condition that it is narrated to its entirety. There is to be no fabrications or alterations. I shall, henceforth, deliver onto you the cold hard truth. The truth of a prophet...Thus, my history commences..._

_Prince Janus Zeal_

_(Lord Magus)_

Myriad colors of a darker spectrum flashed before her eyes. Biting winds slashed against her body and cold seeped into her but the aspiring prophetess permitted only the incantation to hold her attention. "Nuega, ziena, zieber, zom...Now the chosen time has come...exchange my soul for the life of the lost prophet...Black winds, I beseech you...!" As fierce as a sword thrust the dark breeze was upon her, slamming her to the pentagram.

She was swirling, the familiarity of the black vision embracing her. _A filter of vision is visiting me!_ The young wizardess' heart began to race. _Is it the great prophet? Oh, beloved oracle bless me with your foresight. Truly, we were meant to restore the glory of zeal._

"Meredith!"

Meredith ignored the bothersome voice. Another of the prophetic visions she had experienced as a child came to her. The aspiring prophetess focused her concentration on the sight as light and dark merged to form shapes. Her name was recited again but she turned a deaf ear. Perhaps now she would understand it all. Perhaps now the image would be clear. Perhaps now the ominous oracle would return to living. 

A fragmented figure raced in what seemed desperation, its back to Meredith's vision. The prophet! Meredith cried in exultation. An expansive violet cloak flailed like rippling lightning and strands of azure hair floated like liquid sky. He ran with impossible speed, hands stretched to him, imploring him to halt. But he did not. _Come back! What are you trying to tell me?_ Meredith could have ripped her lavender hair out from frustration.

Now the long-dead prophet was falling. The fall seemed to take forever to complete, a descent into nothingness and finally a crash. Though Meredith couldn't see his lips nor hear the cry she was certain his scream could shatter glass and sanity alike. Her stomach churned in grief to see the prophet's agony as he severed the waters. 

_What's this all mean? Where did he go? Is this the way the story ends?_ Meredith's questions were not left unanswered. Like a liberated dove, hailing blue and purple (colours of royalty, if one listened to the elder), he erupted from the imprisoning liquid. Now he floated above, majesty in one word. Walking on water, actually. Triumphant was he. And her heart soared with joy.

Then it was all over. The vision faded to the images of the material world.

"Meredith!"

Blue light blazed from her flames on the carpeted floor, set not only in a pattern that encircled the pentagram she lay on but also lead up to the cavern's entrance. That was indication that someone had intruded. A youthful male of about sixteen years had gingerly pushed back her beaded blanket. Glancing this way and that he entered. Normally she would have screamed him out (not for the first time, either) but his genuine interest in the cave gave her pause. Maybe it was time she let another in on her secret. Ian wasn't particularly bright but at least he was attentive. Most of the inhabitants of the Terra Continent would have snickered at her efforts to resurrect the prophet.

"Enter. The prophetess of the great Magus greets you."

The words appeared to excite Ian. She straightened, smoothing the purple velvet that clothed her. The youth slowly walked forward. Meredith beckoned him to come closer and when he did she wrapped one arm around his neck and the other around an immaculately black tome. His fervent smile reflected deeply in his coffee eyes. She flashed a brilliant smile back.

"Meredith, what are you doing? I've been looking all over for you. Don't you want to hang out with me?" Ian asked. Dirty-blond strands tickled his brow as he looked at her.

Though the two were the same age the young prophetess knew her bearing made her seem the elder. 

_Imagine the prophet as he prepared to bring glory to Zeal...And what if he could be returned to the land of the living? He and I would restore the magical kingdom. Prophet and prophetess, side by side, immortals that persevered through the darkness of disbelief and rendered light to their kingdom. Oh, wondrous and eminent Magus please come to me!_

"Oh, no, not again! Meredith!"

"Yes, Ian?"

"Where did you go just then?"

A thousand smiles gleamed in her sky-blue eyes. "To my destiny." Meredith drew him close. _Shine your glorious light on me, great oracle. Let your divine voice steal my words as you own and give them strength._ "Just a short moment ago I was receiving a sight prophecy. My attempts were to revive the great prophet known as Magus."

Ian fell silent.

She continued. "Unfortunately, I have failed. Only a prophecy of sight came to me. But I will not be denied my destiny. I will restore the prophet and united we will raise the magical Kingdom of Zeal from the ocean and rule together."

Ian remained silent.

"Don't worry. If you help me there will be a place for you, too," she cooed. The blond teen smiled and immediately announced he was 'at her service'. "All right, then. I need to find the pendant that he left in here to open his personal journal. Undoubtedly, it'll give me some clue as to finding a way to resurrect the great Magus."

Ian leapt from her arms and cried, "Yes, prophetess. I'll find Magus' pendant."

"The great Magus!"

His cheeks crimsoned. "Right. One pendant from the...ah...great Magus coming up."

So they searched. The cavern wasn't necessarily colossal but it contained an amazing array of books and scrolls and statues crammed in a diminutive amount of space. _The prophet is definitely a lover of literature and art. Just like me._ Meredith waved her hands and the scones on the rock face sprang to life. Unfortunately the darkness was averse to release its reign on the cavern and only grudgingly retreated. United, they poured through the various drawers and chests. Ian wanted to give up when they wasted the day away but she told him if he left now he was gone for good. Oddly enough he stayed. Then, with a shout, he raised an azure amulet.

Meredith embraced Ian, dirty as he was, and snatched the pendant. Though covered with grime and dust and fractured from obvious wear and tear it glimmered like a moonbeam. A tiny dragon, an ancient symbol of power, was engraved in the platinum. The young wizardess engraved the image into her heart hoping the prophet would feel her bliss beyond the grave. 

Hiking up the robe she had tailored to imitate the oracle's, she reverently stepped about the blue flames and entered the pentagram. She gestured to Ian for the book. Darting up nervously, confusion but eagerness evident, Ian retrieved the manuscript and handed it to Meredith. He smiled at her in the way a shy admirer does. Ian wasn't a repulsive boy but the prophetess was only interested in her god. 

Sucking in a sharp breath the aspiring prophetess began. She took a sitting position, cross-legged, and lowered the black memoir to the centre of the pentagram. Cupped in her hands, the amulet's dull sheen became a riot of light. It exploded in every direction. Ian was forced to shield his eyes with an arm. Meredith didn't; the light seemed native to her pupils, reflecting and refracting. _Come, oracle of the golden age, bestow me your words from this book. Enlighten me. Restore me. Nourish me._

Meredith gazed up at Ian, the light of the flames and the pendant clashing with the shadows they created. They crawled on her face making her eyes seem larger. More prominent. "Ian," she whispered. He bent closer. "Help me. Touch each of the five star vertices in turn and say, in order, fire, earth, water, wind, and lastly shadow. Start here." Her fingers caressed the right most point of the star.

Almost in a trance, the youth obeyed. In turn each vertex was touched by Ian's fingers and blessed with the word. Once finished he stepped back. Now came the tough part, summoning the esteemed prophet's power. Carefully, as one might descend into scalding waters, she focused inward and the light and shadows merged again. She kept delving into the rind of her soul determined to reach the source and bond with the deceased prophet. For a moment she could see his face...Then it all shattered. Meredith collapsed to the carpet, exhausted. Her lungs were inflamed and her bones screamed for rest. Softly, she murmured, "I failed..."

_Read, my dear one._

What? Was that him?

_Read and you shall be...ah...enlightened._

The blue-haired wizardess knew she heard the words not with her ears but with her mind. She strained to hear more but he spoke not again. Ian hovered anxiously. Gritting her teeth against the pain, she drew herself to a sitting position again and glanced at the book. It was him. The prophet. _Oh, thank you, prophet. I shall serve as I am commanded. _The book was opened to the first page, bold lines of neat handwriting blazing at her.__

__"What...did you...um...see?"_ _

__Without removing her eyes from the perfectly white page she breathed, "His face. Oh, his beautiful face and marvellous eyes. His hair was like a wave atop a sea. He was beauty and power personified. Liquid power and alluring looks. His face is that of a god."_ _

__She set her fingers to the lines of text, mumbling the words beneath her breath like a chant. In her mind's eye she saw Magus murmuring with her, his eyes flashing. One might be mistaken for believing he was here, right now, watching her. His beyond-the-grave presence stirred her._ _

__If Meredith had turned her head she would have seen Ian shake his own in wonder, awe and not a little jealousy. She thought Magus as an immortal sent from heaven to save this damned world. Damned this world was, immortal Magus was not, he believed. But there was no use in trying to convince her of that. She was utterly bewitched._ _

__"Oh, listen, Ian. He's telling me to narrate his life." Her eyes were on the page. "He's even a prince! He says the person who has the book has the right to tell his story!"_ _

__"Then do it."_ _

__And so she did._ _


	2. Barrier of Blood

_...One cannot truly perceive the experience of returning home unless s/he did so. The whole atmosphere was enough to convulse me to my heart, reliving the sights and smells and sounds of years old. And, though, one might be inclined to imagine that the situation is only moderately altered, surprised would be the individual who strode in my cloak. Shadows fell in distinct angles, contorted to the point that my initial reckoning was meaningless. Nothing was the same...Except Schala._

Sheets of azure liquid slammed into the ocean below, rippled by slashes of ivory. It crashed against a barren shoreline. Snow trickled, struggling to resist the onslaught of water but failing each time. It dissolved never to be seen again. Those massive waves could be a testament to the kingdom that subsisted above its passionate reign. Why? Because, nestled in the clouds, floated the Magical Kingdom of Zeal.

Oh, it was beyond magnificent–it was staggering. A quadrant of islands drifted in midair, a single enormous piece flanked by three sky islands. To the right (judged by the direction facing out from the center), was a sizable chunk with the city of Valor. Top most left of the main body floated a mysterious land with a magical power. Lower, but still to the left, was another portion of grassy granite with the amazing Enhasa. The center mass contained the prestigious Kajar, the sky harbor, and a number of mountains and an astonishing waterfall from which cascaded immaculate water. But most significantly of all, the breathtaking Palace of Zeal.

Ocean and kingdom...both powerful, undeniable, passionate, and brutally merciless.

 _Home,_  Magus sighed.  _No, not home. I never had a home. Never really needed a home. It was a place I merely existed in._  
  
The wizard lowered his head, lest the emotions overwhelm him. Ever since his arrival in 12 000 B.C. maintaining, his cool demeanor had become increasingly difficult. And why wouldn't it be? Here was his world for nearly a decade of his life, ripped from him at an impressible age. But his mother had been the one responsible for delivering him into the arms of Ozzie (well, not literally) and his sole love had been of his cat, Alfador, and his sister, Schala. Oh, his dear sweet sister. Only she was the one who understood him. What would she think of him now, a Prince of Darkness?

_"Janus!"_

Spinning with his characteristic fluid grace, Magus paced from the balcony and shoved aside the violet curtain. Nothing. Just his wild imagination getting the better of him, which it often did. As he turned on his heel his sight fragmented and an image materialized before his fire-and-lilac eyes.

_"Janus!"_

_There was his beloved Schala, indigo robe hiked up to avoid tripping, chasing after...him! It was he as Janus, the spoiled brat. Darting this way and that the cagey prince dodged his sibling's arm and leapt onto a golden chair. Alfador hid in the boy's robe, violet fur scattered the length of the chamber. Schala's hands were on her hips. Though she tried to look stern, she never could. Such was Schala. Janus made faces at her (quite innovative ones, too) and she dissolved into laughter._

_"Janus, that was not nice! Ha!...Ah, (giggle)...Dalton may be rude but you shouldn't have... Ha!...burned his hair! Ha! Ha!"_  
  
 _Then the two made up, embracing._

With a jolt Magus emerged from the reliving of that moment. He loved her more than anything. Oh, if only things had been different! But they would never be. He had to sacrifice that golden opportunity to salvage this corrupted kingdom. The destruction of Lavos was paramount. He was the key to all the suffering, the years of torture and rejection. Destroy Lavos and all would be good again.

But first he had to convince his blasted mother, and monarch of Zeal, to accept him as an oracle. He'd received the inspiration while observing an ebony-robed individual boasting to someone that he had prophetic powers. Prophecy was an aspect of magic Magus had become interested in (because of the black wind's omens) and he decided he would emulate a foreseer. Now he awaited an audience with the queen.

Again, the former prince turned as his keen ears heard the chamber door open. Pompous and overdressed entered the queen's advisor, Dalton. His outfit screamed of his arrogance, pride that nearly matched Magus' own with less cause. An expansive orange and purple cape flowed down his back connecting to his gold tunic. However, what was most unusual was his brown eye patch. And, of course, that silly hair.

"Greetings, Dalton."

The advisor's eyebrows rose suspiciously. "Hey, how did you know my name?"

A smile came to Magus's lips. "I'm a prophet. And you're here to announce me to the queen." Actually, the dark wizard had no evidence that Dalton was here to deliver him to Zeal's audience but he estimated the factors and heralded an educated guess. Unfortunately, in answer to the name, he had the most honored pleasure (Dalton's words, not his) to know the man himself.

"Well, don't keep her majesty waiting. Attend me to her." Magus offered a sardonic bow. He had never liked Dalton but at least he was entertainment. When the advisor muttered a sentence along the lines of 'arrogant bastard' the sorcerer surreptitiously lit a lock aflame.

It required a fortune of control for Magus to refrain from laughing as Dalton went livid. Dalton blew so much on the blazing strand that it frayed into charred split ends. He pointed an accusing finger at the self- proclaimed prophet and sputtered, "You did that, you slimy jackass!"

Expertly stuffing his own hair, a vibrant wave of blue, into his hood, Magus glided past him. "Since you are so slow, I'll just escort myself." Another bow and he was out the door. The fuming advisor came at his heels.

Throughout the large corridor Magus had plenty of time to absorb his childhood world. Physically it was much the same. He made his way over purple carpet and black-and-blue tiles. In line of sight stood at least one statue or bookcase or plant. Candelabras burned on many polished wood tables. Pillars with gold-leaved tops and elegant marble stairs lead him to the throne room.

But beyond the naked eye existed an atmosphere he only now detected. Self- significant Enlightened whispered words of his mysterious appearance. Not pleasant ones, either. They were consumed by a passion to enhance Zeal Kingdom. They spoke of dominance and immortality.

They were the ocean–devoured by the lust of power.

_I must never permit myself to become absorbed, as have they. If I seek to slaughter Lavos this rage must never take hold of me. I need to cultivate this fury to energy against him not for him. How easy it is to let lust command. I must resist._

Though Magus had an amulet himself, he waited for Dalton to open the door. It would do him no good to offer obvious hints that he lying about his identity. This guise as an oracle would only serve him as he sought his mother's confidence if he 'followed the incantation to the letter', so to speak.

Dalton swung the massive door. Time to fry, Magus knew.

_Oh, god, I'm going to meet my mother. The woman who once played with me as a child and then saw fit to get rid of me and let me suffer a hideous fate. My own mother._

A waterfall of emotions erupted over the sorcerer as he strode up the violet carpet. The throne room was absolutely stunning but such was the power of his feelings that he could only catch a glimpse. They absorbed him, stabbed him, and nearly brought him to his knees. It was just an effort to put one foot in front of the other.

 _This is murder!_  Magus silently cried as his eyes dilated.  _I have to find some way to deal with this now. And fast. God, I didn't expect it to be so powerful. So much for self-control._

When Magus was new to killing (how far back was that?) and refused to do so Ozzie sent an assassin after him. The intent had been to break the then- teen's aversion to murder. And break it he did. The sorcerer slew his would-be killer in such a brutal fashion that Ozzie himself refused to speak of it. The lust for blood shocked him. But the aversion wasn't the only thing that was shattered. Magus went insane.

It was then that Magus recognized his vulnerability. To escape the madness he devised an imaginary place in his mind where emotion could not enter. The vault of his mind, of course, never contained that secret world but it let Magus pretend that he could only feel if he so willed it. Like damning a waterfall–or an ocean.

Mentally descending into that safe haven the sorcerer managed to harness and conceal his state of distress. Easy it was not but finally he succeeded. Now he gazed up at his mother without fear, without remorse, without anger. Without emotion.

The woman who gave birth to him smiled fiendishly. It was a demon smile from a demon woman. She rested easily in her massive throne, hair the same color of his flashing against pearl earrings. A gold torque encircled her neck and bracelets gleamed on one arm while rings were on the other. She was a rainbow of color but a heart of black.

Scientists buzzed around the chamber. Enlightened whispered among themselves. Dalton yawned purposely. The situation was as it should when Magus caught a glance at the trio.

Standing to the left of his matriarch was Alfador, his precious cat, himself as Janus, and his sister, Schala. Alfador meowed curiously. Janus stared with skeptical eyes. Though they were of great importance, it was the third that snared his attention. Schala sighed a weary sigh, circles around her beautiful eyes. A crimson ribbon restrained her azure-violet mane framing earrings identical to their mother's. She smiled down at Janus to reassure the boy. Unknowingly, she pacified Magus.

As if by some connection of the soul the two, unified, clasp a hand about their amulets. Schala... he whispered in his mind. He witnessed a twinge of emotion register. Just as he was considering another attempt he heard a screech of magic and then a thud followed by sharp pain. The agony darted up his side. When he touched the wound, he was astonished to see he emerged with blood.

"No one enters without bowing to me, understood!?"

The source was self-evident. Adjusting his sweeping cloak, Magus laid a gloved hand on his heart, while its mate crossed over his back and he dipped with a bent knee. Straightening he stared at the woman who had hurt him, in more manners than one, once again. He exhibited no fear. "Yes, your most exalted majesty. The error shall not be repeated. I apologize for offending your greatness."

The flattery was accepted (with Dalton snickering in the background) and finally the game commenced. "Your majesty I have heard of your greatness far and wide. I am here to offer my services, as an expert prophet, to you. I submit to your command. My life is yours."

Her cheeks drew back in a wolfish smile. "A prophet, aye? My, but you would be useful. If you're real that is."

"I assure you, your most highness, that I am real."

"Prove it."

Now this was a curve ball. "What?"

Her array of jewelry clanged as she bent forward. She snarled, "Are you deaf or just simply stupid? Didn't your mother teach you to pay attention!? I want you to prove you are not a fake. Do something fancy. Give an augury."

If it wasn't for that secret hole in his mind, Magus might have lost everything right then and there. As it was the situation tore him utterly from his element. His stomach tightened unpleasantly.  _Bless the reaper! I don't have any prophecy for this. I am living this first hand!_  Though the mention of his attentiveness (a bit of bitter irony he noted) irritated him to no end the demand itself was what really disturbed him. He hadn't thought about formulating a divination. Before he could reply, she addressed him again.

"What is your name?"

He glanced momentarily at Janus.  _No, I'm not him._  "I go by the name of Magus the prophet."

The sorcerer was immensely relieved when the queen smiled. "Magus," she purred, testing the name on her tongue. "A very good name. Now, are you ready to give a prophecy or shall I have you... detained?"

The barrier he had erected around his person did not falter even though he knew what that meant. Imprisonment, exile, or even execution. It was now or never. He concentrated hard to remember if anything significant occurred this day. Nothing came to mind.

Queen Zeal opened her mouth to speak the words that would likely call him curtains when a sudden inspiration saved him. He had been thinking how the wave of animosity was so like Zeal when he remembered the word ocean ...Ocean Palace! Of course! It may not be a prophecy per say but it'll have to suffice. "Your eminence, I do have some sort of augury for you. However, it is confidential and I can only impart the information to you."

His mother smiled, thought, and approved in the same breath. She gestured with her index finger and he approached. So near to her Magus needed all the self-control he could muster. Ascending the daises, after appropriately calibrating his hood, the self-proclaimed prophet bent to her ear and whispered, "The Ocean Palace shall be completed in nine days. It is then you will make an announcement that will forever alter history."

He withdrew to await her appraisal. A grin later and Magus breathed another sigh of relief. "Excellent!" she cried.  _Of course, it was great–for you that is. For me, I'll never be the same again. I lost everything . . . my childhood...my cherished pet...my innocence...even Schala._  The pupils of his mother gleamed. "Excellent! No one is supposed to know about my secret announcement! Delicious! Oh, a prophet you are!"

"A prophet he's not!"

As if an enormous wind suddenly exploded forth heads spun, hair swirled, eyes flashed. All eyes were greeted with the same sight: an immaculately robed male with raven-black hair. His stark cloak, black as well, was stitched with silver threads and runes. An equally handsome woman who sported a head of liquid sunlight accompanied him. Though the female was ravishing it was the robed figure that commanded attention. And got it.

"Who are you?!" the queen exclaimed. "Who are you and what is your business?"

The newcomer made a bow that put Magus' to shame (not that he would ever admit it!) and smoothly answered, "Oh, esteemed majesty, I am a true prophet and here to spare you the lies of this imposter!" The former prince took an immediate disliking to this man.

"How dare you call me an imposter!?" Magus strode so close to the newcomer that he could detect the smell of parchment and the like. And each experienced an instantaneous enmity toward the other.  _I have no time for some fool's attempt to upstart me!_  Then, witnessing a glimmer in the man's eyes a cold hand gripped his heart.  _Bless the reaper! He knows! He knows it all!_  
  
A mere glance and Magus knew his history was familiar to this man. The mysterious figure returned the stare and spoke a thousand words with it.  _Oh, yes, Janus. I know you are the prince. I know your mission. I know you are a fraud. I'll spare you the effort of questions—I know everything!_  Though the former prince couldn't affirm if those words were right on the gold its meaning was not lost on him

"I challenge you, he who claims I am a fake. To a duel."

The eyebrow's lifted. He seemed to ponder if it was worth the effort. Once he glanced up and down Magus he answered, reserving the sum of his assessment to himself. "And I accept. My name is Jarl. And you have just met your match." His gaze nearly penetrated Magus' barrier, his safe haven. But almost was all he attained. By sheer force of will the sorcerer's face remained neutral.  _Odd as it is, I should thank Ozzie for sending that assassin after me._

His beautiful assistant, the one with the gold hair, grabbed Jarl's arm. "No, Jarl. Don't." When she stole a look at Magus, the sorcerer detected an odd air about her. Just as Magus was wondering she offered a wink.  _Is this some sort of diversion or does she really have an eye for me?_  Without quite knowing why he returned the wink in kind.

Jarl shrugged his companion off. He and Magus faced each other, fire-and- lilac gleaming against shimmering silver. Neither drew their weapons. They seemed more intent on glaring at one another in pure loathing. Magus did not give ground to Jarl maintaining his mind in that secret sanctuary. No anger. No fear. No emotion.

A blur of violet fur and Alfador rubbed against the sorcerer's legs. He purred in the contentment of a feline that had been reunited with his long- lost master. Come to think of, that's exactly the way the story did go. _Oh, god, Alfador, not now. You'll give me away!_ His cheeks crimsoned when he realized Jarl was grinning. And in the background was Dalton's infuriating laughter.

"Ha! Ha!...(giggle),...Blessed Zeal that mangy cat‚...Ha!...(snicker)...likes the prophet! Oh, this is rich!" Dalton's snickering was no little annoyance to Magus so he stealthily spotted a stray strand of his hair, aimed, fired, and the wild hair was aflame again.

As the queen's advisor danced in a circle, the sorcerer resumed his attempt to detach Alfador. The cat stubbornly remained wedded to Magus' ankle in a circulation-severing hold. He could feel Zeal's amusement and Schala's bewilderment. Jarl revealed his humor only in his eyes while the rest of the audience stared and snorted.  _Blessed the reaper, dose it have to end this way–defeated by an overzealous cat? My own cat, to boot?_  Sure, Magus had ironies in his life but he severely doubted they were as mortifying as this.

"Alfador! Alfador! Alfador! Come back here this instant!" In the heat of the moment Magus had forgotten about himself. Janus darted over. He didn't even acknowledge the mage's existence. Wrapping two arms around the mass of tangled fur, he dragged Alfador back to Schala. The cat, meanwhile, meowed piteously until he recognized his captor. If a cat could express human emotion Magus would swear he saw Alfador looked puzzled.

 _Oh, god, that's me. Me as a child. Maybe not a saintly child but innocent nonetheless. Me before I sacrificed my humanity to feed the needs of Ozzie and others. Me before I . . ._  But he unclenched his fists. Now was not the time to feel sorry for himself. With the use of his illusory safeguard his attention riveted on the task at hand. His last thought was of how he should thank himself for the unwitting save–quite literally himself.

Now his mother regained control. "You'll not shed blood on these sacred grounds. I hereby, under royal order, command you both to work on the Zeal project. Whomever I deem the true prophet shall become my second-in- command. Understood?"

Dalton wailed in protest but Jarl seemed satisfied. Magus decided it would suffice. First objective achieved.  _Good work, Magus. Of course, that was only the easy part. More obstacles would have to be overcome before I can face Lavos. But when that doses happen–and it will!–it'll be I who is triumphant._ As his mind swirled with these thoughts his touch sense told him he'd been struck where his wound was. And it stung.

It was Jarl. He smiled a chill smile that Magus was so used to giving others...not receiving.

"If you truly believe your own words... " His voice spoke the words in a deathly murmur. "...and you have no fear of knowledge then come to Valor's library seven sunsets from now. At dusk. Fail to appear and I may be forced to reveal your... " His pupils gestured meaningfully at Janus. "...unique heritage."

Swallowing but determined not emerge from the recess of his mind, Magus merely nodded. He didn't quite trust his own voice. But the response appeased Jarl and he took his companion's hand and departed. With him gone the sorcerer felt a huge weight lifted off his chest.  _Now I'm constrained to see this man, this Jarl. How does he know my history? What does he want? And, most importantly, what will he do with this information?_  
  
Magus didn't know. He doubted he wanted to know. The consequences were too grave.


	3. The True Prophet

_...And into the darkness I am sinking, beneath the torrent of mortal manipulation. Perpetually, I am a pawn–this time to a man who heralds the godhood of shredding asunder all I embrace dearly. And so, I play this game, as a pawn, to the acrimony of my soul. Far more bitter, however, is that if I am a puppet how much more of an instrument is Schala? Ah, but we are mere fools who dabble in deception in our brief blaze of life..._

Descent down the more-than-unfriendly steps gave Magus pause. Nocturnal navy and ebony muted the natural colors of his environment to a dull shade of obscurity. Rotten beams complained in scraping groans that caused his heart to thrash. They sagged, swayed, and, even snapped beneath his wary feet. And yet, they were just stairs, more infirm than most, yes, but certainly that should not disturb him. What, then, had him cold in fear?

 _Jarl, Magus. You are at the indulgence of this leech. One wrong move, one wrong step, one wrong blink, and, he probably wouldn't hesitate to wreck everything you have labored for._  Magus gnashed his teeth, the oddly reassuring glint of his pendant beating...small comfort, but a ravenous man didn't balk at bread crumbs... _Why is Jarl dangling this royal heritage of mine above my head? What could he possibly want? What point is he seeking to prove?_  
  
Past the stairs the former prince's eyes adjusted to the murky light, a native exercise, and laid his gloved hands on a stone door. Vibrations, of voices, permeated the many cavities.

"Jarl, what are you writing? You are always writing in that. Won't you show me?"

A negative grunt, then a whisper, "Later, Alura. Our friend shall be here soon."

 _Another time to fry, I see. They are waiting for me. Waiting for a wrong move._ A sly smile glittered in his fire-and-lilac pupils. _I guess I'll just have to avoid making any wrong moves, now won't I?_

The sorcerer yanked the knob. It refused to budge. A second attempt emerged as fruitful. He set a quartet of knuckles to the rock panel and knocked. The door creaked open to permit a sliver of lamplight through. A petite hand snatched his and dragged Magus in. Just as swiftly, the door was shut.

A cascade of honey, framing a lovely oval face, addressed him. Magus recognized her as the female companion of Jarl. She smiled coyly as she lifted her hands to his temples. Before the sorcerer could protest, she removed his hood. His own striking hair fell in disarray. She giggled; he flushed. "My name's Alura," she breathed huskily. Now her hand lowered to his waist and she seized his while at the same moment his injury throbbed.

Pain from pleasure...pleasure from pain.

_Cough! Cough!_

The pair glanced in the sound's direction.

"Ahem. I am pleased you've met my assistant. Time is of the essence as the dawn approaches. We should not delay destiny–now should we?" The words, impeccable as dreamstone, were no little annoyance to Magus.

If anything could be claimed about the chamber it would be that it was definitely not the expected. Normally, every room below the library were web-fraught and not of good repair. As for this room the norm was not. Most noticeable, perhaps, were the abundant bookcases. A wide assortment of books crammed the many shelves...encyclopedias, dictionaries, novels, tomes, and, the like. Big ones, small ones, thick and thin, they were all here, in colors of crimson, azure, black, gold, chestnut, and green. A single lamp, flaring from a plain wood table, shed light on the room's undoubtedly most captivating item.

The item in question was a painting. Magus estimated it to be ancient and valuable. Surrounded by a gold frame stood, from waist up, a man. Satiny brown hair, streaked with silver wisps, reached his shoulders matching his vast moustache. His eyes, sapphire like the waterfall, radiated with inner wisdom, suffering, and, foresight. A name had been engraved on the gold–Zephyrain.

Alura led him with a hand and soon the three were scrutinizing a map. A map of Zeal. The four sky islands had been detailed to precision and marked appropriately. The sting of returning home was no less fierce but at least Magus could endure it now.

"Ah, the magical Kingdom of Zeal–a world of profound wonders. This is where we are," he gestured at the Valor Library. A silken dagger, his voice, plunged to a smooth murmur, "And this, as a prophet's prediction, is its fate." Magus was about to demand the reason he was here when Jarl grabbed the design.

Once a map, the paper now became a shower of ivory tatters as Jarl tore it. Like a snow globe it inundated the black-robed sorcerer swirling in rhythm. However, unlike a snow globe, not a scrape marred his attire or his person. Magus' eyes narrowed. Jarl's eyes gleamed.

"And the point to that was..." Magus purposely trailed off in anticipation of an answer.

The sorcerer replied, "Was to symbolize the end of Zeal and the beginning of my kingdom."

The former prince's shoulders convulsed in laughter. "Your kingdom? Ha!"

Alura observed the exchange like a spectator at a tournament.

"Ah, but I will have a empire. Far greater than this one. Far more perfect." Jarl's lips pressed in a straight line. "And what of you, prince? Want your kingdom back?"

Magus fell silent.  _My kingdom? It wasn't even my home! Once I save it from itself and Lavos I'll let Schala rule. She would be a good leader. Much better than those power hunger fools. Then she and I can be reunited. To the Void with anything else._  
  
Fixing a cool gaze at Jarl he answered, willing an indifferent tone, "My intentions are none of your business." Tossing his hair aside he spun away from the sorcerer and strode to the far side of the room. He halted at one of the many bookcases. Immediately, Alura was at his side. Jarl countered:

"Really? I could quote your intentions like a basic magic theory." Magus retorted with a snort. Jarl continued, "On quote, ' _The prince of Zeal, distraught that his dominion has fallen from grace, shalt design a scheme to deliver his lost people to righteousness. Masquerading as an oracle, he'll attempt to exterminate the beast that shalt be known as Lavos, and fail_ –"

The color drained from Magus' face as he cried out, "No!" A brief step and he grabbed Jarl's arm and jostled him hard. "No, you lie! You can't know the future. You can't!" Alura yelled at him to stop. It wasn't until the ebony sorcerer wrenched from Magus' grasp that the situation cooled. The former prince crimsoned furiously.

_So easily he angers me. Damn, why can't I control this anger?!_

Jarl lifted a blue-bound tome, speaking with infuriating superiority. "I know. I know. It's hard to believe that a man has so accurately predicted your plight. Yet, such a prophet did exist. He knew much and he wrote it all," he patted the volume, "here."

"Show me."

So Jarl deposited the book on the table and, licking a finger, flipped through the pages. It was a fairly sizable primer but he leafed it expertly and in short order the page was before him. "About...here!" Magus shouldered the consummate necromancer aside and read.

_The prince of Zeal, distraught that his dominion has fallen from grace, shalt design a scheme to deliver his lost people to righteousness. Masquerading a as an oracle, he'll attempt to exterminate the beast that shalt be known as Lavos, and fail, his world shattered and irreclaimable..._

Seizing the book Magus flung it with all his might at the portrait of Zephyrain. It rattled the painting but the metal was too durable and the tome collapsed to the floor, opened to some page, upside down.  _Calm now, Magus. Remember your little haven._  He focused the force of his rage, refined yet deadly, at Jarl. "Lies! Whoever wrote this shit isn't playing with a full deck. I refuse to believe it."

Again came Jarl's perfect, aggravating smile. After lifting up the book, dusting it off, he spoke, as if to a child, "My dear Janus–ha, I mean Magus," the 'error' provoked a black look from the mystic sorcerer, "but prophecy does exist. Just as normal mortals remember the past their superiors read the future. Surely, you've heard of the eminent soothsayer, Zephyrain?" He gave the book to Alura to replace on the table, which she did, reverently.

The painting. The prophet. Zephyrain.

In the farthest reaches of history there lived a man, a prophet. Zephyrain the prophet. And this man predicated much of what became accurate history itself. He formulated innumerable theories; among his most famous were those of the magic spectrum, of time line fragmentation, and, of the nature of prophecy. Even the majority of the illiterate knew of his most basic concepts. The book Magus had just thrown was the man's own edition of auguries.

 _Bless the reaper! Fate always conspires against me. Schala...Zeal...everything... shattered...irreclaimable!_  If it weren't for the hidden rendezvous of Magus' mind he suspected tears would be streaming his face. Frustration, sorrow, bitterness, the entire black rainbow of negativity engulfed him. It would have been physically visible if not for his refuge. But there was a barrier and so his misery went unexpressed.

Muttering, Magus licked his dry lips, "He could be wrong."

"He isn't ever wrong."

"No one is infallible."

Standing at an angle so that he faced both Magus and the prescient prophet, Jarl waved a hand at the portrait. "Him? Him? The man who created modern mysticism and defined the spectrum and even time periods itself? Him?"

"He's dead, isn't he?" Magus grinned indulgently–pleased it was him for once. "His 'infinite knowledge' must have failed him on that one!"

Without answering Jarl opened the book again and paged it through. A satisfied grunt and he began reading. "On quote ' _At age sixteen, the prodigious Janus, an outcast in every sense of the word, will make a vow unto himself. 'Do what they will to me I won't kill anyone. I won't become the monster they want of me, the monster inside of me!' Janus' sacred word was crushed when an assassin, Ozzie's agent, was sent to kill his spirit against murder. Or kill him. As the would-be slayer attacked Janus–_ '"

"Enough! I've heard enough! So, I'm damn well screwed again–why would you care!?"

Again, the smile. "Because I can help you."

"Help? How?" Magus kept his voice neutral. And yet he knew that every crevice of his soul cried for some sort of salvation from the fate that always tripped him.

It was Alura who answered him now, bubbling over with zeal. "Join us! Be a part of our great nation! You are especially talented, Jan–ah, Magus."

"Yes. We can do nothing to aid this doomed land. But we can create a new one." The black-robed necromancer echoed her sentiment, albeit with less effervescence. His eyes penetrated for the kill. "And Schala shall be saved."

The only indication that their offers had affected him was his eyes sealing. The room was starting to swim and became unbearably sweltering.  _Acknowledge Lavos' victory, allow my devil-tainted mother to destroy the lives of so many, and watch a whole world explode into a mass of rubble to rise as a shadow of its former glory? How can I do that? How do I know they won't just build another tyrannical Zeal? How could I live with myself? To stare into my face in the mirror, every day, knowing I could have done something–anything–differently?!  
_  
 _But think, Magus. If there's nothing to do for this land of you-can't-do- shit-to-help then why refuse their offer? Shattered...Irreclaimable...what choice do you have?_

Opening his eyes he noticed the two gazing at him in anticipation. He sighed. "I need time. To think..." The wizard wanted to add more but words failed him.  _What am I going to do...tell them I doubt even myself?_  
  
"Fair enough. Alura show our friend out." With the business dismissed Jarl immediately paged through the primer. Not a mar of thought crinkled his face, so smooth with flawlessness. Magus would have died to be that immaculate but, as usual, fate was not so kind. Emotion forever held him prisoner.

Startled was the mystic sorcerer as Alura snatched his hand. The other hand flung open the door and soon they were on their way. Through the main chambers and corridors they passed as they exited the Valor Library. Magus breathed in the crisp night air with relief. The entire discussion had made the room stifling. Distant stars shimmered in the velvety sky. Not a word was exchanged until they both stepped on the skygate. It was a flat, blue platform that brilliant light shot down and absorbed the person(s) in the teleportation pad. As with them, there were no exceptions. They were deposited on the main continent.

In such close proximity Magus felt uncomfortable. He had always been ill at ease around people; he was a loner by nature. However, Alura's odd smile and 'small talk' made the situation additionally disquieting. Needless to say, he was more than pleased to be off the gate.

"Well, I'll be leaving now." Magus turned to go but she grabbed his cloak and pulled him back.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Her cheeks drew back in a girlish grin. She replaced the hood on his head. "There. What would you and Jarl do without me?"

Magus flushed. He had forgotten about the hood.

"My appreciation. I'll be going now."

"No, no, no! Let me come with you. At least 'till you reach your quarters."

The wizard opened his mouth to decline but, from the set line of her jaw, he realized resistance was futile.

So she joined him.

Through leafy paths and gold paved boulevards, through bounteous foliage and phenomenal edifices, she questioned him. So, what's it like being home again? How did you first learn to cast magic? Do you really like prophecy and do you honestly believe you are an oracle? How does it feel to be a prince? Who was your first girlfriend? What was she like? The inquires went on like that, an endless stream of interrogation. He replied as sincerely as he could but he often found them personal.

"Have you ever made love before?"

Magus froze dead as if striking a wall. The seductive wizard didn't live in a vacuum. He did have a few relationships, the art of lovemaking known to him. But all of his lovers had turned sour and cleaving a person in half was more amusing than taking them to bed. "That really isn't any of your business." _And why would you want to know, anyway?_

She gave him a hurt expression. Words were about to spill from her lips but then Alura's eyes brightened with a thought. Jarl's 'assistant' shut her eyes dreamily and swayed to rest her head on his chest. Two arms cinched his neck and brought his face closer to hers. Her breath, moist and inviting, warmed his face. Her lips pressed on his.

A moment later the pair parted. Magus didn't say anything. He didn't know what to say. Ambivalence thieved the air from his lungs. Alura was beaming, her lips sultry.

"Tell me, darling, don't you find me attractive? Desirable?"

Magus remained silent.

Smiling, Alura added, "I guess I really must be going." She blew him a kiss and darted along a side path.

Alone, he could finally breathe deep. What in the void was she trying to do?  _Irritating woman._  
  
Thoughts fled him as a magical word was uttered and a flash of fire ignited the sky. His fire-and-lilac eyes dilated. The blaze was headed for him! Magus wanted to move out of harms way but he limbs seemed paralyzed and ignored his demands for action.

It landed on his thigh. Right on his wound. Pain flared up. And laughter drove him wild with rage.

Dalton's laughter.

After Magus successfully extinguished the flame, Dalton spoke, voice laced with humor, "I can see that...ha!...your passion...ha!...with the girl...(snicker)...has you blazing all over! Ha, ha, ha!"

The snickers were almost as infuriating as Jarl's smile. Unfortunately, since Dalton hid behind one of the many trees, Magus couldn't taste vengeance. Then a dreadful thought seized him.  _What if he heard about my past as I described it to Alura? Damn! He chided himself quickly on his error. What was done could not be undone_. Chances were the queen's advisor had not heard the conversation.

"I got you back, prophet, for that nasty stunt you pulled in the throne room." The words were smug. "If I didn't know better I'd say you've been getting ideas off of that brat Janus." A pause. "Don't worry. Queen Zeal will realize who her second-in-command should be. Yeah, real soon. Have a nice day, you jackass."

Another spiteful spurt came at him but Magus dodged, anticipating the move. The shadow belonging to Dalton (or where the sorcerer suspected him to be) disappeared leaving him to his seething agitation.  _Damn them all to the void! Everyone seems to want to get a piece of Magus. Jarl demands I join him. Dalton wants to get even. Alura...well, I can't even tell what she's after. But none of this must curb my waiting vengeance. Their lust cannot stop my mission...not even Schala...  
_  
 _Oh, dear sister...what ever I am to do? At first I thought it prudent to reveal my identity to you but now my resolve falters. If I allow myself to fall to saving our sibling ship shall I be condemning you to a worse fate?_  
  
"Hey, you! Get over here!" The voice, every bit Magus' own, sliced through his misery-induced trance. He glanced about seeing no one. Blinking, he answered, "Get over where?"

The answer: "Are you as blind as the Gurus? Down here!"

At least two feet down stood an indignant Janus. His blue hair, not quite at home with his face, flopped down over his ears. As well, his royal robes seemed too immense for his diminutive form as he scowled self- righteously at Magus. The sorcerer could have roared.  _Did I really look that goofy? No wonder no one took me seriously! I wouldn't take me seriously appearing such as that!_  
  
"Yes, your highness," he replied, only a glitter in his eyes betraying his amusement.

The subdued laughter was not lost on his former self, however. Janus puffed himself up to build his confidence, "Well, Mr. Prophet, the Princess Schala, demands to see you. And you'd better not keep her waiting!"

Another glint of humor. "Of course not. Please attend me to her, your highness."

The two had to avail of a secret teleportation pad to reach the Zeal Palace. Midnight was evident and neither desired a fatiguing climb up the mountainside, no matter how nurtured the path was. The waterfall, pouring a curtain of crystal liquid seemed especially eerie tonight. The accompanying mist furthered his mood. Expelling waters emulated the populace of Zeal as the determined, passionate, and, overwhelming force gushed.

They continued to stroll in silence which suited Magus just fine. He knew that at Janus' age he was unsociable and ill-mannered. Engaging in conversation would likely lead to a confrontation with himself. Gazing at his alter ego, the mystic sorcerer realized the old proverb was true–in a real quarrel it only takes one to start.

Finally after having navigated corridors with lush plants and argent statues their destination was met. Schala's door loomed at them. Magus lifted his eyebrows in question and pointed at her chamber. A confirming grunt came from Janus. Sighing, he prepared to enter.

"Wait! Wait! Blessed Zeal. I need to talk to you! Shessh!"

He was starting to realize how annoying he could get.

"Yes, you highness," Magus responded, everything smiling but his eyes.

"I'm just letting you know that I'd seen that lewd look you gave my sister. If you dare touch her you are going to regret it! And don't forget, I'm the prince. Yeah, real important. I can get you in some big time trouble!"

At first Magus was about to burst out laughing. The incredibility of the situation was so ironic (brother desiring sister and how 'important' Janus was) it just seemed another chapter of twists in his warped life. But then the amusement died.  _This is who I was. A real brat. And with that attitude it's small wonder I ended up the way I did._  
  
"Hey, mister! Are you even listening to me!? I'm the prince! Listen! Listen!"

Janus' exasperated demands became squeals of sheer terror as his older self grabbed him by the throat. Easily, Magus heaved the prince off the marble flooring in one hand and menaced the other over his head. His eyes gleamed with self-loathing. Janus proceeded to struggle. Recognizing his captor as the stronger he cried furiously:

"You let me down this instant! If you don't I'll scream at the top of my lungs that you're kidnapping me! Let me down now!"

Magus' retaliation was to squeeze that much harder. Labored breaths came from the prince's lips. The sorcerer shoved his face threateningly at Janus. His eyes, blood-violet, had the favorable affect of hushing Janus. The child's own pupils enlarged as he spoke, "...You...you...look...like...someone...I...know...know..."

 _No, Janus,_  he retorted acrimoniously,  _I don't._

"Now you listen to me, Prince Janus! I'm not lusting after your sister! Understand?!"

All Janus could do was nod.

"And you'd better not get me into even the smallest bit of trouble or else..."

The prince had just enough air to mutter 'what?'.

Magus thought of an appropriate determent. The memory of a green little man offered him one.

"Or...or else I'll turn you into a–a toad!"

As if the sorcerer had polymorhed Janus already the zeal royalty converted to a mild shade of lime.

"...Yes...yes, let me down..." So faint, in dread, was his voice. Magus cringed clandestinely at the recollection of how he had whimpered before as he became submissive to Ozzie in fear of his life. He lowered the squirming prince down, who immediately dusted himself off. He stuck his tongue at Magus when he thought the wizard wasn't looking. But he was.

"Hear me, you brat! If there is but one good thing you do in your life then stay out of harms way when the disaster strikes!"

Before either could initiate a conflict the door swung open. Beneath an archway of stone an azure-robed beauty stood, her eyes astute and infinitely loving. Violet ribbons of hair swayed as she shook her head in disapproval. Apparently, she had overheard the 'disagreement'. Right behind her came a blur of purple fur.

 _Oh, no, not Alfador, again!_ Magus had not forgotten the earlier incident where the feline had nearly betrayed his identity. And from the look on the cat's face he was about to have an encore.

"Meow, meow, meow!"

All twelve pounds sprang at him. Though Alfador could only leap high enough to reach his knees the cat, nevertheless, continued to yowl, insistent. Attempts to discourage him were in vain–ignoring, shoving, muttering, even a short kick did little to faze the feline.

Schala smiled genuinely. "He seems to like you. Give him a pet and he'll leave you alone."

He instantly heeded her advice. Soon Alfador was purring in his arms, delighted to be addressed by his long-lost master at last. Magus received a rambunctious purr for the scratch under the ear. Though his inner haven held true the self-proclaimed prophet couldn't help a single lonely sigh, eyes squinted. It was unbearably prolonged since he had even done something as basic as patting his cat. Eventually, Alfador became satisfied and demanded to be released. He was.

On his stubby legs the four-legged personality returned to his other master. Janus was more than grateful to have possession of his pet again. Glaring at Magus, the prince snatched up Alfador. However, the cat, high- spirited, darted around Janus' legs resulting in the prince's frustration. Schala giggled ever so faintly. Magus, seeing that vitality, couldn't restrain a chuckle himself. To be in this moment...of innocence and mere merriment... _Yes, Magus, you had the world. Key word, had._  
  
What is the world if it is but a dead world?

Nothing, that's what.

Rearranging her bejeweled hem, Schala bent to her knees and looked her brother squarely in the eye. Her younger brother, that is.

"Janus, listen to me–"

"I'm always listening to someone," he grumbled, Alfador still scuffling. Then he began mimicking the various inhabitants of Zeal. "Janus...Listen to me...I've got something big to tell ya..." Schala did not relent. "I'm serious. I want you to return to your room, with Alfador. Don't talk to no one, okay? The prophet," she glanced at Magus out of the corner of her lavender eye, "and I have to discuss something. Okay? Please?"

_He's going to give in. I could never resist my sweet sister._

Prophetic might have been the declaration or maybe Magus just knew his youthful self well. Either way, Janus consented. He didn't agree easily. He didn't agree happily. He wasn't about to assent at all first but once Schala promised a gift for his obedience he cooperated. With the rebellious Alfador in one hand and a tongue aimed at his older ego, Janus disappeared, forever giving Magus the evil eye.

After inspecting the hall (and even the next for good measure) to assure herself they were devoid of eavesdroppers, Schala invited him to enter. Magus gingerly stepped in. His sister made one last survey then shut the door and locked it firmly.

She turned around, slowly. Hesitantly. A sigh, a shutting of the eyes, and, another sigh and Schala bade him sit. Whatever she had to impart Magus estimated–from the contorted cheeks, the straight set lips, the haunted pupils–it was grim. He attentively refitted his hood then searched for a seat. A chair stood in the corner. It evoked memories for the sorcerer. At first they were fragmented at best but soon the image was vivid.

It was him as Janus, the spoiled brat. Darting this way and that the cagey prince dodged his sibling's arm and leapt onto a golden chair...a golden chair...a golden chair...Magus dragged his thoughts from the reverie. Schala had spoken and he had missed the words.

"My sincerest apologies, Princess. What was that, again?"

The answer was long in coming. Instead, she strolled over to her argent- rimmed window, eyes full of suffering and sorrow. A shadow of misery washed over her, the trapped dove, her wings shattered but her will still very much intact. Certainly, Schala had never appeared this forlorn in his memory! Though Magus witnessed now the disheartening of her as he had not then he still experienced awe. Her undying valor and her prevailing perseverance. This was the stuff his sister was made of.

Horror lightninged down his spine once she recited her request. The shock was so prominent he could have sworn on his soul it was physical.  _How could she ask that? My beloved sister...pure-hearted and brimming with love...how could she ask that?_ Lips ashen, he breathed, "What did you say?"

A sigh came from her pursed lips. Schala opened her mouth to speak but her voice faltered. Gathering her resolve, she replied, "I know it's a lot to ask but consider how important it is. There isn't a night I haven't lain awake, crying for what must be done. Tonight will just be another episode of tears I suspect. But better that than the lives to be lost...lives!"

He had no answer for that.

"Just think about it, okay? And don't tell anyone, whatever you do!" Her eyes narrowed un-Schala-like and she muttered in her pathetic attempt to threaten, "Or I'll deny it all and you'll be exiled for slander. I hope with all my heart you'll read the truth in my words and listen to your own."

"Yes, Princess. I will."

_Why don't I just tell her who I am? Tell her that her wild plot is dangerous at best and deadly at worst? That I know the real problem and it wasn't the one she had suggested?_

Gazing up into the lavender depths and grinding his fingernails into his palms, the sorcerer mumbled, "...I...ah,...have something to tell you...I...I...damn,..."

"Yes?"

He dearly wished he had half her conviction, resolve, and, heart.

He didn't.

"Nothing...just thinking out loud." Being of no consequence to her, the Princess of Zeal escorted him to the exit. The lackluster light of predawn dared to peak through her window. He lowered his head to keep his face concealed. Night had elapsed and he hadn't even noticed.

"Not a word..." she warned. He nodded as he passed the threshold. Before he left she asked for his foresight, her eyes corrigible. Magus hesitated. What did one tell a doomed loved one when the world was about to be torn asunder? Didn't she deserve to know her fate? "Prepare." That concluded his revelation. The sorcerer was out the door–not giving her a chance to reply.

"Kill our mother?" he murmured. What was this world coming to?


	4. Forgive Me, Forgive Me Not

_...Forgive me...Forgive me not...Dare I claim that the whole of humanity, the populace of Zeal, my mother...even Schala...are becoming consumed in their passion, their lust, to fulfill their purposes and to the Void with the cost? I, myself, shall not be swayed! While others herald the wicked ambitions to their hearts_ I  _clearly see the truth. If the great angels of heaven should demand I divert my course_ I _would not yield. So, forgive me or forgive me not, Schala, but_ I  _will not yield..._

"Forgiveness..." Magus snorted acrimoniously. His billowing violet cloak, a magically enhanced artifact he uncovered in the Middle Ages, whispered as it dragged over the palace steps. He passed another jewel-bedecked chamber, eyes open, yet as shut to this existence as if he were blind. The dark blue-black tiles did not hold his attention. The stunning gold-plated banister did not sway it. Neither did the presence of Enhasa, normally a painful omnipresent reminder of his ugly past. No, today was a day of reflection...and soon come a day of reckoning.

Could he forgive? Should he forgive? Or was it his soul in need of repentance for his crimes against the world, humanity, and even himself?

 _No!_ he cried wordlessly.  _Perish the thought!_  He was in the right. If he let mere doubt stop him what greater calamity would result? Without the disguise and deception the shadow necromancer might decide to surrender to cowardice. And what worse things would they all suffer then?

His procession down the steps complete, the mystic sorcerer advanced toward Enhasa's entrance. Duty called and so did the Queen. The Queen...his mother...and his nightmare. After shaking to clear his head, Magus stuffed his azure hair in its place. He couldn't think of her. Admittance to how truly her cruelty scarred him would only serve to weaken the former prince's resolve. His 'haven' came in quite handy for preventing that. He must only think of how to save this damned Kingdom of Zeal.

When he focused his piercing gaze at the door the dark wizard noticed three figures enter. A curse found his lips when the former prince identified them. Spinning on a heel, Magus darted back up the stairway and hid beneath the shadows, over the banister. This provided him with a vantage view that was both safe and empowering. The three did not detect his proximity to them.

A frog. A princess. A boy. The world's 'heroes' or say they claimed. The first carried himself with an air of chivalry. His deep green cape extended far beyond his four-foot form. Sheathed to his side was a blade, the legendary Masamune. Magus flinched at the negative energy produced by the sword. The second smiled, a thing born of utter conviction, of impossible faith. A weapon, one ash bow, was strapped to her back and her bright white outfit would blind a person. The final 'hero' grinned adventurously, too eager. His tousled red hair flared in outlandish display as he clutched his own weapon, another sword.

Glen. Marle. Crono. Magus only sighed. More pebbles to the river of life, he noted. What could he do with them?  _Let's just hope they're here for a little fun and not to ruin my mission again. God, if they bother me just one more time they'll know the wrath of Magus all too well._ As it was, he was content to watch the motley trio explore, monitoring their progress from his viewpoint.

"Oh, Crono, this is beautiful!" squealed Marle. The princess bounced up a set of stairs–the kingdom was full of those–and her gaze absorbed everything. Crono muttered something about 'girls are overly excitable' but smiled nonetheless. He, too, started up, finally arriving at the landing. Lastly came Glen, his frog's snout twitching as if he sensed something out of the norm. Shrugging, the amphibian followed his companions. None noticed Magus.

_I ought to fly down from here and slit their throats, those pesky brats..._

All were silent, even the dark prince, when a blue-haired child approached the stairway that the three adventurers were about to ascend. At the lad's side bounded a lavender feline, Alfador. It was he. It was Janus.

Crono was the first to speak. "Hey, you, kid! Where's the Queen?" This prompted no response. All Magus' younger self did was stare, like his eyes seethed acid, and run his hand over Alfador. Magus stiffened, fearing that the blasted cat might reveal him again. But Alfador seemed occupied by his master's patting.

Awkward silence ate their voices. And in that quiet, the shadow necromancer felt the Black Winds emerge, chill his soul, and ripple his attire. Janus, too, was affected.  _Recognize that, toad?!_ Glen's eyebrows rose and he might have spoke but the prince cut him off. "The Black Winds howl..." he murmured, thoughtful. His face scrunched up. Then it relaxed. "One among you will perish...shortly..."

That said, he left.  _A prophecy!? Was I a prophet...No, can't be..._ Magus dismissed with a flip of his hand. No, the child was not offering a divinity—just a childish attempt at what he can't do. Still, Magus would have to observe Janus a little more now.

Now Glen's eyebrows weren't the only ones reaching dramatic proportions. "Weird..." muttered the red-haired boy. His finger was stuck in his head, scratching slowly. The voice of Marle's trembled like a fluttering of paper, "He...he said...one of us will die!" Glen patted her shoulder encouragingly. Meanwhile, Crono squeezed the other. "Hey, Marle, we faced worse, right? We can do anything!"

Magus thought he would be violently ill.

"Aye, strange lad." Glen agreed. "We shouldst seek out her majesty and doth proceed from there." The others assented and readily returned to the stairs and soon were out the door.

Instantly, the sorcerer abandoned his shelter and swept down himself. His boots made sharp thuds on the marble flooring.  _Damnable 'heroes'! So, they want to speak to my mother, hmm? We'll see about that..._

In this life Magus doubted he could develop a more ferocious and effective scowl. Three of the Enlightened Scholars–two colorfully dressed females and a white-manned male–took respective paces backwards, sideways, anywhere, merely to avoid his deadly stare. It was just as well; the self-proclaimed prophet had never been very social anyway. The only aura he displayed, other than his thinly veiled fury, was that he desired: coolness, arrogance, and superiority.

_Side with crazy Jarl?_

_Kill my own mother?_

_Resort to plan one?_

The options ran like a menu. He had to decide...and quick! With a gloved fist to his velvet collar, Magus strode out into the sunlight. Fingers of golden caressed him, habitually tender and soothing. Or it should have been. Today, the sun could shine on him and him alone and not warm the mystic's tortured soul.

_The unforgiven...the unforgivable...the unforgiver..._

Walking along the gold-paved boulevard (what wasn't golden?) and through overhanging leaves that brushed his cloak, the necromancer sighed and decided to visit the waterfall. Many a time when the prince was but a child he would attain comfort in solitude. Who needed friends? All one required was a furry companion, a breathtaking waterfall, and himself. Rapid was his step and before long the gorgeous curtain of liquid blossomed into view.

This time, however, he would find no comfort.

Orange-and-violet garments fluttering like a peacock, Dalton chatted with another even more lavishly garbed Enlightened. This irritated Magus to no end. Only when he spotted Schala standing some distance away, back arched in obvious pain, sapphire strands dancing, did he amend his initial statement. Again, the former prince longed to reach out and embrace her in a brotherly, healing hug. 

Apparently, the Zealian prince wasn't the only one with touching Schala on the mind. Dalton, dismissing himself from the Enlightened, swallowed the distance between the two. With a hand, he slapped her behind. She jumped and shrieked un-Schala-like. Crimsoned, the princess glared at her aggressor.

Dalton's smirk was maddening. "Come on, Schala, give a little, will ya?"

Eyes like ice, the dark wizard's sister hissed, "You will address me as Princess. And, no, I will not give anything! Not to the likes of you!" The advisor to the Queen's expression mirrored Magus' own. Neither could believe the coolness in her words, one whose are ever warm. Not that the dark wizard didn't enjoy seeing Dalton put in his place...

_...Ah, and time to get even, Magus!_

A mischievous smile and a sly thought took Magus. Uttering the arcane language softly, not to be heard, he released a fist of energy at his sister's assailant. It collided with Dalton full in the chest and, with a grunt of surprise, flung him straight into the stirring waters. Water sailed over the edge but Schala dodged it expertly.

"That damned jackass! Why I ought to–ugh! Wah! I'm wet!" All of this came from a drenched Queen's Advisor. He was a terrifically comical sight, water streaking his rainbow form, more liquid running in strings and globes down his sides and front. His hands curled in implied strangulation and his features twisted in hate. "That god-damn prophet!"

Meanwhile, his sister twirled around, vibrant strands spanning and gave him that 'stare'. For years, Janus had known that when his older sibling was truly displeased she would not shout, throw things, or even complain. No, just one look at that expression could send him back in his bed–pronto.

"I don't need anyone fighting my fights, _prophet_ ," Schala announced. The inflection on his title was easily missed unless one looked for it. He had. She continued, "But I guess you meant no harm...would you walk with me?"

You could have slapped the dark wizard on the face and not drawn more amazement. As ever, his secret seclusion spared him visible emotion.  _She actually wishes to speak to me? Even though I hesitate in the assassination she demands?_ A moment more of reflection and he added,  _perhaps_ that  _is what she wants to talk about...more murdering...gods, what is this world coming to..._

Bowing, he answered, "But of course, your highness."

If Magus had expected another gruesome, disillusioning task he was happily mistaken. They discussed the proficiency of magic. They agreed on the significance of prophecy. They disputed the treatment of the Earthbound ones. But they did not once address the assassination that she requested of him.

It was a welcomed change of topic. He, who was the child of blood, war, and death, tired of such macabre issues. Near Schala, Magus could almost forget, if but for a moment, that soon would appear Lavos in his most brutal form and that his whole world would be torn asunder. For a moment he was free...

Then reality returned.

After brother and sister divided to their duties before the audience with the Queen, the dark wizard opted to return to the Valor Library. The prophecies in Zephyrain's tomes were enough to discourage anyone from altering history but Magus had always been at odds with fate and still came out alive (if not unscathed) and was determined to do so again. Though accustomed to the games of cruel destiny he liked them no more. Here, individuals counted each victory even if it was as minor as a believed lie. In the Middle Ages, wordplay and mind games almost didn't exist. It was either kill or be killed. On the battlefield, the heat of your rage and the sureness of your hand decided triumph or defeat instead of the smoothness of your tongue.

"Now, I must read volumes eight through ten for tonight...and, hmm, eleven to thirteen tomorrow...um ...and–Damn!" The long string of tasks were cut short as the dark prince remembered that he'd left the medallion on his shelf. In his temporary quarters he'd redressed speedily so that none would unearth his identity. "Must have forgotten to put it back on...ah, well, I must fetch it..." And so saying, Magus made use of an authorized personnel transportation pad to warp back to the Palace of Zeal. His dark thoughts resumed.

However, since arriving in Zeal, Magus realized how significant his sharp mind could be. Being an 'oracle' had its advantages, but the constant deception was unimaginably draining. Reading up on the prophecies belonging to Zephyrain undoubtedly added to his own knowledge to keep up this charade. Meanwhile, Jarl and Alura persisted with their offer, Queen Zeal prepared the Mammon Machine, and his own sister wanted murder! In battle all you had to do was cut off a person's head and that would be the end of it. And even if you were the one getting decapitated, well, then you wouldn't have time to worry about it anyway...

_Now if only life were as easy..._

Adjusting his hood, it wasn't the perfect fit and he was ever wary of being exposed, the shadow mage stepped off the gleaming circle. His journey through the halls of Zeal only furthered his low opinion of his people. Paintings, statues, artifacts, and whatnot were in his midst. All horrifically lavish. Not that Magus cared a cracked iron piece of the welfare of those who suffered–why should an eminent prince worry about the Earthbound ones?–but such resources could go to better use. Lustful, all of them. Not necessarily in the sexual manner (though Dalton was a prime example of that!) but concerning their excessive desire for immortality. This judgment was reinforced with various paintings of a new Zeal, that of a utopian society of eternal life and happiness. He knew better; happiness didn't exist.

He walked down the walkway, down golden steps, up golden steps, past two bookcases and finally in through an antechamber. It was then that he halted. His fire-and-lilac pupils rested on twin portraits of Zephyrain. The first was the prophet at the Queen's side and the second exhibited his magical prowess.  _What was it like to be so immaculate, to command that amount of power and unburdened by bothersome emotions_? At that Magus shuddered.  _I must not let power seduce me._ He lifted a hand to lay five digits on the azure-and-amber frame.

"Who's he?"

Magus started at hearing such a familiar voice. Familiar? It was as familiar as his own. It was his own.

Janus.

A sly grin oozed into the dark wizard's lips as he observed himself. He dismissed it instantly, however, replaced at once with concealed bitterness. "Your highness, this was the great oracle, Zephyrain." He paused, waiting for an indication to continue. At Janus' nod, his voice trailed on, "In the age of dreams, oracles were in abundance as the drops of rain in a pond. But some unforeseen, unknown event removed them from this earth, that is, until Zephyrain was born. With his birth, life was breathed into soothsaying. You know all the prophecies and timelines and magic spectrums you so hate to study? If it wasn't for him that knowledge wouldn't exist."

Grunting in disfavor, Janus muttered, "Shoulda kept his thoughts to himself!" Magus restrained a chuckle.  _You hate prophecies and yet you just 'gave' one. Interesting..._ The younger prince added, "What happened to him?" The ill-proportioned eyes widened, offering the eight-year-old a rare innocent look.

"He disappeared mysteriously one day. Some say he was an angel from heaven and returned home. Others swear the oracle sought after an evil wizard and left to protect Zeal...Most, however, claim that he left for a better life, that of immortality..." The necromancer frowned at that. "Suffice to say, he is no more than legend himself now."

Two tiny lips parted, as Janus contemplated his older version's tale. He seemed to approve and then he bounded down the hall minus another word. Magus snorted with annoyance.  _  
_

Without quite knowing why, the dark wizard followed his younger self. Whether Janus noticed this pursuit, he in no way indicated it. When the boy vanished pass a bend, Magus examined the various corridors, snatched an image of its schematics from retrospection, and proceeded. He found his memory was still impeccable. By the time he'd done that, however, Janus was already engaged in a conversation. So, the necromancer halted to listen.

"Schala!"

"Come in, bro. I've been waiting."

"I've missed you..."

Silence.

"Is something wrong?" It was at this that Magus opted for a better view. He was becoming quite the spy as of recent. Slipping quietly into the adjacent chamber, the dark wizard peered through a crevice in the wall. Magus had created that very fissure himself one day, overly curious about a discussion his sister was having with Dalton. Since then, using the hole had become normality.

The panorama was poor but Magus made out the image of Janus and Schala in the latter's room. Books were strewn over the oak table. More books lay on the austere purple carpet. The brother stood, arms crossed and back to his sister. A breeze wafted through both of the siblings' hair and garments. "The...Black winds..." finally answered the child. Alfador lay on the bed, yawning in a way only cats can. Magus remained silent.

Schala gingerly stepped forward. "You feel it, too? Don't worry, it'll be all right." Fishing in her robe, she produced a small pendant, with an engraved dragon, and presented it to the prince. "Remember that gift I promised? Here, hold onto this..." Janus' lips moved but made no sound. "What's this?" he asked while fingering the relic like he'd had no others and his child's mind could not perceive such power and beauty.

Dipping her head and biting the inside of her cheek, it took a considerable length of time for the princess to respond. When she did it was soft as a wind's whisper, "Just something to protect you...I wish I could be with you always but mother has other plans."

"She's no longer our mother! She looks like our mother but inside she has changed!"

_Smart even then, was I?_

"Janus, she's our mother!"

In disgust, Janus turned away. The child didn't see the hurt he caused Schala. But Magus did and winced.

"I want to be with you...still, I can't..."

In the silence, expectant silence, the prince declined to dignify her with a response. Again, she was badly wounded by the unsympathetic quiet. The dark prince winced a second time. 

"Janus, I'm sorry..." No response. Her attempt at a hug proved as fruitless. Even Alfador seemed uneasy as he sensed the tension with his feline perception. After he meowed, the boy obediently obliged with a pat. But he studiously ignored Schala. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears which made the self-proclaimed prophet want to kick his younger version for acting as stupid as he was.  _We ignore something when it's near but cry for it when it's gone...Why do we take for granted what is near and dear to our heart?_

Just another regret he'd have to learn to live with...

Noise reached the mystic's keen ears and one eye trailed to the three that so unmannerly entered...And who else would they be but the three wanderers, Glen, Marle, and Crono? Interfering in his affairs had become a pastime of theirs, Magus guessed with a sneer. How dare they? Would they ever get enough? He gnashed his teeth, thinking to slay them right now, and be done with it.

Better judgement prevailed. First, it was three against one again, and he knew (even if he'd admit it to no one) that they could best him. They had before and might again. Second, since the prince was uninformed about their plans he would be better served by listening than slaying. But third, and mostly, he decided inaction because the sight of Schala's horror as he murdered the trio was enough to repulse him. He'd rather suffer in silence then hurt that which he held most dear.

So, his anger went unexpressed.

He was not the only one to notice the wanderers. A gasp informed Magus that Schala detected their presence. The princess of Zeal smiled warmly, despite her pain, and her eyes immediately relighted. "Oh, my... hello...who are you?" Meanwhile, the other sibling remained unapproachable because he believed that this 'greeting of strangers' was just another ruse to snare his attention.

Three sets of green eyes locked on each other. Wordless words passed the three's expressions as they contemplated their actions. At an unspoken signal the boy, presumably the leader, opened his mouth to reply. Before the words rose to lips, however, an Enlightened entered. Her aquamarine dress shimmered with various decorative jewels. She lifted a cerulean-gloved hand, beckoning.

"Your highness, the Queen demands your presence."

"A moment." After the scholar consented, unhappily, Schala returned her focus to the annoying adventurers. "I say again, who are you?" And again, poor Crono hardly got a word out before the bejeweled woman persisted, "Please hurry, princess. If you do not come the Queen will be very angry."

Trying to carry on three conversations at once must have been difficult but Schala took it like she did everything else–in stride and with grace. Another failed attempt at an embrace with her brother and she murmured, "I'll be back, Janus. I promise." The child offered no answer. To Crono and the others, she apologized, "I'm sorry! We'll speak later." And finally, she acknowledged the woman with a gesture to lead.

All in three of Magus' heartbeats.

Once the blue-haired beauty had departed, the frog, princess, and boy muttered among themselves. What was said was unclear but not that Magus cared anyway. More significant to him was witnessing the expression on his alter ego's face.

Janus stroked his cat in forced strides of stress. His round cheeks contorted. His little lips pursued. His eyes watered. All a sign that the prince was not handling the argument with his sister well. But the child contained his composure when the companions commenced their inquiry.

"Even weirder..." breathed Crono.

Glen prompted, "Young lad, where arth thy Queen?" His tone was conversational but Magus did not miss the hint of suspicion. The dark wizard clasped a hand over his mouth to keep his amusement silent; he was not prone to laughter but this was just too rich... _If only the idiot knew..._

"Go away!" Janus snapped.

"Gee, R-U-D-E." The last was Crono's comment that resulted in a scowl from the child. At that same moment Marle diligently examined the room as if she were as poor as pennies. The entire time she'd run her eyes over the place, a rebel princess loving ever minute of adventure. Nevertheless, her more 'cutesy' side diverted her attention when she noticed Alfador. "Ah, what a pretty cat!" she squealed, leaning forward to pet the feline.

Indignant, the prince of Zeal scooped up his only friend in his arms while aiming a blazing glare. "Stay away! Alfador only likes me." At this the cat meowed; whether to indicate yes or no could not be told.

Appropriately admonished, Marle darted back, flushed. Glen raised his eyebrows while Crono called them all close. Keen as his ears were, Magus had to strain to hear the conversation. "There's something freaky going on here. I bet Lavos has something to do with it!" the boy declared confidently. 

"Aye," agreed Glen. "Thine lad doth seem familiar..."  _Oh, irony, my dear frog._

"Let's head to the throne room," was the princess' suggestion.

Magus was no longer laughing. Go to the throne room? Were they crazy? But that's what the trio elected in the end. They filed out of the opulent chamber, each casting a glance at the prince. Janus pretended to ignore them even though his azure eyes peeked every now and then. Since when did he lose that color of his eyes? Magus found he could not recall...

Everything he'd done in his past life, after Zeal, the former prince realized, were but hazy images. They were like the kind of dream you have that is vivid while sleeping and yet blurry in the waking world. All the emotions and images, the torment and sorrow, poured in him as easily as wine in a glass.  _Am I losing my touch on reality?_ A shudder skittered though his body. It wasn't a topic he liked to dwell on.

Decisive, the dark wizard abandoned his spy hole and marched to his own living residence. It was off to the far left, beyond the main entrance and two bronze gargoyle statues. It was a false wall, movable only by magical means, given to him by the Queen to encourage his prophetic studies. She'd been pleased and when his mother was pleased the elder Zeal offered a smile. Others thought it benevolent; again, he knew better. It was the smile of the devil...

_As if I'm any better!_

His own room was much like the others. Three bookshelves spanned the opposing wall, brimming with various books. His bed itself, extravagant to say the least, overflowed with tomes of all sorts. The candelabra on his writing desk needed to be replaced as the wax, so frequently used, stuck to the sides.

Dismissing this, Magus snatched the pendant in a fist and refitted his hood with another. The quarters were a mess but he denied any maid access for fear she'd uncover his identity. Everything rode on his being undiscovered.

_Yes, doesn't it, prince of Zeal? Janus. You whose name is the testament of your soul...portal-dweller...two-faced...deceptive..._

It took everything not to burst out in guffaws when Magus passed through the threshold of the throne room. The sight that greeted his eyes wasn't necessarily humorous–his mother's malevolent grin, Schala's glistening eyes, just the whole evil atmosphere–but Dalton's expression had chuckles spilling from the dark wizard's lips. Dalton, Queen's advisor and self-proclaimed perfectionist, was soaking wet.

Oh, if looks could kill, Magus would be pushing up daisies.

Six golden pillars supported a ceiling of artistry and formed a semi-circle around her majesty's massive throne. Blood-red carpet, interwoven with violet, extended the length of the chamber. All seemed to be as it should but Queen Zeal's smirk told him a different story. Dalton was at her left (Magus' right), glaring daggers. Schala stood, anxious, to her right.

This time the necromancer remembered to bow, a low dip of the knee, and greeted his mother with a smile that did not reach his eyes. It was hard to smile when all you wanted to do was rip that smirk off your own mother's face. But smile he did. What choice did he have?

"Rise, Prophet. Let this meeting start." Magus immediately strode to a position right of Schala, near enough so as to feel close, yet at some distance to avoid paranoia. Clandestinely, the dark wizard glanced at her. Her cheeks were pale so much she might as well have been a marble statue. Her eyes had dark circles, indicators of long nights spent awake, and shone dully. Anyone would be seriously mistaken to claim she had no stamina—she'd proven that inaccurate time and time again—but he could infer that the whole ordeal was taking its toll.

Oh, how he hated seeing her like that!

"Now for the meeting. Jarl is preoccupied working on the Mammon Machine while his assistant is recruiting more Earthbound Ones for the Ocean Palace's finishing all the last minute touches...Troublesome, aren't those Earthbound?" the Queen announced. None questioned this judgement. Indeed, only Schala disputed and she had long ago quit trying to change their mother's mind.

Her majesty bent forward, as she always did to emphasis a point, gown rustling. "Thus, neither will be here for this meeting. Instead, my prophet and advisor shall give their opinions and my daughter here will detail the magic required to activate the machine. Also..." As she droned on, Magus thought of how grateful he was to be aware of Jarl's latest movement. Ever since the meeting and offer he kept 'an eye' as they say, on the black-haired wizard. Jarl had not only the ability to pierce someone's soul but design webs of deception that Magus was determined not to become trapped in. It was better to be safe than sorry.

His mother's overbearing voice ran through his head like a severe migraine. "I have to notify the assembly of the announcement." Two sapphire pupils gleamed in malicious appreciation at him. The room stifled. "My thanks to you, Prophet. Now the great Ocean Palace shall rise from imagination to realization. I dedicate the opening of the palace to you, my prophet."

What a great dedication.  _Oh, life can be so ironic..._

A gasp expelled by Schala's lips informed the self-professed prophet of how horrified she was. Dalton was grinning like his face was perpetually that stupid. Queen Zeal's smile was even more malignant. But the color drained from his cheeks, all too aware of how much closer he was to the arrival of Lavos...

_Soon will come my confrontation. My time to fry..._

And it was going to be hot indeed.

Still the woman on the throne elaborated on the glory of New Zeal. "Yes, we all shall become immortals as we deserve..." Her face lit with savage joy, delightful insanity. She returned somber, "Well, now, where were we? Ah, yes, the first order of business is to discuss the preparation for the Ocean Palace—is there something you have to say, Prophet?"

Freezing as if he'd used an ice spell on himself, Magus hadn't realized his demeanor had revealed his inner thoughts. Dark thoughts, of how to rid Zeal of those pesky wanderers. If they persisted his mission was compromised. Swallowing, snug in his illusory safeguard, he declared, "Your most esteemed majesty, I have divine knowledge of usurpers against your throne."

"Usurpers!?" she cried, her various gems gleaming in blazing eyes.

"Yes, my Queen. Three travelers. One is a cursed man-frog going by the name of Glen. Another is a boy called Crono and the third is a girl named Marle. They know of your illustrious plans and wickedly intend to destroy them." Throughout the proclamation, his voice intensified with confidence. This part of prophecy he could command. But one glance at Schala and the dark wizard dearly willed any god to strike him down dead. She was absolutely livid.

_Damn, you idiotic bastard, have far does this have to go?_

_...So forgive me or forgive me not, Schala, but I will not yield..._

As long as it had to, apparently.

"I'll keep that in mind. Again, the crown is in your debt." He acknowledged the praise with a nod. He'd get no better. Her voice descended to a deadly whisper, "They show up and we'll make them regret ever hearing of Zeal..." None responded. As if she'd hadn't said that, the Queen added, mocks of a smile abundant, "Now, I simply must have your opinion on what to do with the Earthbound...Who are you?!"

Like a bolt of lightning, Magus spun around. A red haze descended over his fire-and-lilac eyes. The sight before him made the dark wizard want to growl.

The wanderers.

How the trio managed to pass the chamber's shielded door was beyond the necromancer. He, himself, had admittance only because he was 'the Queen's oracle' and she opened it from the inside. None among them said anything immediately, though he could see their faces straining in thought.

_No, you'll not ruin my chances again, you pesky fools._

Stepping forward, mindful of his sister's anger, Magus announced, "Your majesty, it's them! The evildoers I warned you of!"

Girl, boy, and frog exchanged uneasy glances. Again, the self-professed prophet noted the latter's curious look, the whispered, 'can't be', and the damnable feel of the Masamune but he remained indifferent. With a disdainful smirk, he left the three to their doom. Crono immediately tried negotiations but didn't get very far before his mother spoke again. "You idiots! How dare you!" Her glare could have cut stone. Schala moved in their direction as if to object but the Queen ignored her daughter's distress.

"Your majesty, let ME deal with them!" cried Dalton. He evidently feared that Magus would win more points with the Queen and decided to attain some of his own. "Golem!" A rip sounded throughout the vast corners in the throne room. The fabric of reality appeared to be shredded as a gigantic rift appeared. Marle gasped, Crono whistled, while Glen's eyebrows lifted in shock. From the hole a creature emerged.

That creature stood several feet tall, layered all over in sharp spikes. Gold skin, as tough as a wall, composed his form and twin horns were situated on his head. Two fangs protruded from his lips (could they be considered lips?) and his tail swished from side to side as he growled with black eyes gleaming.

Magus crossed his arms. He'd like to see them best that.

And they did.

The battle started with Crono foolishly flinging himself on the beast's back. After landing, squealing from the spikes, he proceeded to bang his blade on the durable skin. He rode like it like a horse and yelled all manner of nonsense. Glen, too, struck with steel. Leaping up, he brought the blade against the hide in a downward cut. Unfortunately, that inflicted little in the way of damage. He stumbled to the carpet, his sword out of reach.

Upon Dalton's direction—insane, screaming commands—the monster attacked. Crono didn't remain mounted for long. Instead, he sailed to the ground. Rid of the menace, fueled by cries and battlelust, the golem approached Glen. The amphibian scrambled backwards, weaponless. Meanwhile, Marle, seeing the frog's plight, evoked arcane power and sent several globes of ice at their opponent.

One minute she was up; the next the princess was down, writhing in agony. Golems were beasts that learned the skills of others at an impossibly swift rate—immediately. Icy orbs countered Marle's own assault but it did give the fly-lover a chance for retaliation.

Swinging the blade in a shining arc, Glen summoned Crono to his feet. The former shouted, 'X-strike' and the kid nodded. Both assembled themselves parallel to the other and braced. Simultaneously they launched upwards at the Golem. Their blades dug deep in their quarry and the beast screeched even after the two had returned to earth. Breaths later Marle healed herself and stood, the three ready for more.

_Well, well, well...Looks like three aren't so bad after all...Not good..._

As the golem rammed a golden ball at the three, they fell down hard. Both Glen and Marle lay still, yet alive but perhaps unconscious. Their leader, the red-haired, climbed to a stand and tossed out his arms. Light seemed to suck itself from the room when it engulfed his form. Green and amber flared up in awesome display. 'Luminaire' Magus noted, uncommonly impressed. It domed the chamber then blasted the golem into oblivion.

Ignoring its master's screamed demands, the beast fled.

They bested it. Not good.

The three rejoiced but their victory was short-lived. Dalton, furious at his defeat, took that moment of distraction and chanted a spell. A triangle, made from pure energy, encased the band, knocking them senseless.  _Well, so much for celebration_ , the dark wizard added, sardonic. Schala immediately turned to their mother and pleaded mercy.

"Ha! Idiots!" Magus wished she would stop using that expression; it reminded him of how similar they were. Finally, the rainbow-hued woman heeded her daughter. "Very well...I won't kill them..."

But her eyes, now on the unfortunate trio, told a different story.

"You won't die...immediately, that is! Dalton! Take them away!"

His sister's protests were drowned out in the advisor's delighted reply. He concocted a spell that delivered the three to the plasma prisons. It was a more than unpleasant prison, Magus knew. He'd gotten trapped in one as a child because of some jealous Earthbound. But they lived and while the companions lived they were a threat...he'd have to do something about that, later.

Schala's icy glare made the dark wizard not much like himself. But what choice did he have? Let some fools disrupt his plans for the sake of their convenience? Allow the whole of Zeal suffer because he failed to made the hard decisions?

He did not need to ask for forgiveness, not when he was in the right.

_So forgive me or forgive me not, Schala, but I will not yield._


	5. Enlightment

_..."Time is like a river, flowing mainly in one rushed mindless current". Looking at the situation in that one-dimensional light, how can I possibly succeed? For surely I will meet my defeat–unimaginable is the power of Lavos. I lived here once...What a different person I was! Ah, but now I am prepared. Prepared, yes with...Knowledge. Power. Foresight. Ah, toss these into the timestream and witness what ripples–indeed, what new currents!–it shall entail..._

Magus lifted his head.

Light could not enter the secretive chamber, this secluded Library of Valor. Only his pitiful lamp produced any illuminance and that light seemed to only enhance the predominant darkness. Cold and damp, filled with bookshelves brimming innumerable ancient tomes, still, it was a perfect choice for privacy. The former prince had found little of that in these last few weeks, even less sleep. Queen Zeal, his 'dear mother' kept the whole of Project Ocean Palace busy. It exhausted him to no end but the charade proved useful twicefold–he could monitor the progress of the Mammon Machine and he could learn more to avert the fall of Zeal.

A gloved hand pushed up the self-professed prophet and he noted dully that the hardwood table had left an impression on his cheek. He blinked, yawned, and rubbed duo fire-violet eyes. Absentmindedly Magus mopped up a pool of drool, amazed at how long he'd been asleep...mid-afternoon, as far as he could assert. Straightened, his eyes focused.

And fell on an identical set.

Janus.

Or semi-identical anyway.

 _I doubt Janus has yet encountered the misfortune that alters him so drastically._ It felt peculiar to speak of himself in such a manner. He, the enigmatic prophet, a foreign god, thrown to the winds by fate and made to endure the years of his youth. Fate handed you its injustices; Magus was determined to bend it to his own devices. Using himself? Could that be considered mental cannibalism?

"Taking a nap?" sneered the blue-haired prince. As always, condescending.

_He's an arrogant bastard. We have entirely too much in common!_

Casting his gaze about mildly, the Prophet replied, "I was...resting my eyes."

"Uh, huh." Again, a haughty smirk.

Narrowing crimson-lavender eyes, Magus concentrated the full of his glare upon his younger self. The dank chamber, in all its textual glory, contained so much knowledge...and, yet, this child, this bloody, arrogant child, would amass information that is staggering. It would make the wisdom inside the decrepit pages that lay before him seem as tears to the ocean.

"It's late, Janus. Shouldn't you be in bed?" innocently, or not so innocently, inquired Magus.

As anticipated, Janus bristled. He had such a delicate ego. Really too easy to bruise. " _I_ go and come as I please–And that's  _Prince_  Janus to you."

 _I_ was _such a brat,_ mused Magus, his smile sardonic.

With that, his royal highness perused the chamber. From its poor ambience to the sheer stunning collection of volumes, Janus scrutinized. All the while he feigned disinterest but since the former prince knew the current prince so well (and how could he not?) Magus could determine it as a ruse. One might detest studying something that is drilled into his/her brain but, for some mysterious reason, that same topic is exhilarating when the individual can explore it on their own.

 _Brat, yes,_ he noted, stroking a chin.  _But what a pillar of strength he–I!–become! Man is mourned that such a power could be seduced by the darkness._ The sorcerer of shadow frowned as he continued the surveying of his self.  _Was I seduced? Did the darkness drown me? My hands are stained with blood! What will become of...him?_

Because of his imaginary barrier not a fleck of emotion streaked his face.

Since the portal to the room remained ajar, a certain purple-furred feline ambled in. Making himself home, so to speak. Each of Alfador's masters largely ignored the four-legged mischief until the cat could tolerate it no longer. Like a spring he leapt onto the oak table and meowed quite loudly. At last, Janus offered him the attention Alfador demanded.

Seeing such an ordinary thing had not-so-ordinary affects on Magus. True, his mental gate did not falter, his expression cold and unreadable, but inside stirred a pot of raging thoughts. That pot was his soul.  _How do I save Janus from my fate? From the fate of the Magus?_

A blue-haired beauty, of mind and body, inspired their salvation.

 _Thank you, Schala. For surely his salvation is mine._ A smile, now of relief, graced his deathly lips. Yes. There is a way to prevent Janus' excursion to the Ocean Palace. And hopefully the boy would not play party to his–their–downfall.

"Janus..." he hissed. "You love your sister, don't you?"

The answer came as familiar to the dark wizard as his own heartbeat. "Yes!" Alfador meowed his assent. Then, the only animal in the whole of Zeal (if one did not count the Nu's, of course!) trotted up to the Prophet. Now naturally, Janus attempted to stop the jaunt to this distrusted stranger but it was in vain. With all the swiftness of internal thought, the blue-haired wizard found himself being rubbed and purred to death.

Sighing irritably, or fabricating so, Magus absently patted the feline. The format of the stroke returned to him in astonishing lucidness; like reading a book for the second time. "As I was saying, you love Schala. Love often means sacrifice, correct?"

Two bright azure eyes squinted. Two eyebrows knitted. "What are you getting at?"

Concluding his petting and receiving vocal disapproval from Alfador, Magus sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers. He loved the cat–as much as he could love anything, anyway–but the remembrance was playing tricks with his mind. "You, Prince Janus, will be presented with a decision: either selfishly sneak down to the Undersea Palace and seal the doom of many or wisely opt to avoid the place altogether and save your beloved sister."

The eyebrows became bunched. Confusion, now. Janus' face went into a rapid series of changes totaling no less than four. First, disbelief. Then, horror. Next, grief. Finally, scorn. "Yeah, Prophet, like I'm going to believe your half-truth Earthbound shit."

Magus eyes glittered in the murky light.  _Damn, but I was quick even then. Another tactic, then._ "Maybe I am lying to you. And why would you have reason to believe me? Or anyone, for that matter?"

Now the Zealian royalty bristled. It was a twisted sense of self-torment. Exactly that, in fact. Self-torment. As a child, Magus trusted no one. That, too, hadn't changed. But looking at it now, to see the warped mind of one so young, it unsettled him.  _Perhaps I wasn't right in the head before my exile to the future. Perhaps I was never...quite...right..._

"Eh?" was all Janus responded.

"You think to brave the wrath of your mother and the displeasure of your sister for some cheap thrill. You think it won't hurt. Oh, but dear child, it will–it'll shatter your whole world. I know! I've seen it! I lived it!" Rattling on, momentarily not noticing his younger self, Magus added, "I've tasted fear and blood and death. You...don't...know..."

The dark wizard quickly regained his control as he noticed Janus stiffening. It would do no good to scare the wits out of the boy. Breathing forcefully, Magus whispered, "Can you risk it? Can you risk being wrong? What if I'm right! _Don't you love your sister!?_ "

Howling softly, the Black Wind touched both Janus young and Janus old. The former stepped closer to the table and stared the later in the eyes. His lips jerked spasmodically as he spoke, "I love my sister. Don't dare imply anything else! I was–I was planning on avoiding the place, anyway."

Victory. And one to be savored. It was not an easy thing for Janus. He was only a child, subject to the same temptations as all children. But his love was stronger than his desires.  _I can't be categorized with the rest. I was a prodigy. I was the Magus._ Was, indeed. Soon, with the restoration of Zeal, the Magus would be no more.  _Still, how much of me remains in him?_

Nodding, the shadow sorcerer rose from his seat. His voluminous lavender robes swirled about him like a mist. Or a wind.  _He'll stay safe. But then, he won't have the same knowledge I acquired from my...travels. Janus must be taught!_ His eyes caught sight of the boy as Janus struggled to discipline his cat.  _Yes, taught and trained. I shall be his teacher until my duel with Lavos comes. He'll not have the benefit of the many varied experiences I've had but he'll have the education of them, nonetheless._   _And without the dire side-effects._

"Janus?"

The child's head snapped up.

With his index finger, Magus tapped one of the three tomes he'd removed from the bookshelves. "Would you like to learn things usually reserved for adults?"

The lit-up expression told all.

As the Prophet set the tomes on the table he smiled wryly.  _Poor kid. Probably the victim of endless, boring study. I'll be the catalyst to inspire his love of literature and magic._ Together, Janus and Magus poured through the volumes. The first one was called 'Magic: The Enlightened Essence'. One of his favorites. Their favorites.

For the next two hours the motley pair delved into the ancient text. The first, of magic, prompted several discussions on the theories presented, chief among them the channel to the arcane power: fire, ice, lightning, and shadow. They connect to a color, respectively...

"Red, white, blue, and black!" Janus answered.

"Right."

"Kinda simple, in my opinion. The guy who wrote this must love rainbows!"

Magus laughed.

...and how the arcane energy must be forwarded through the appropriate channel for it to take affect. A wizard who is elementally blue can't channel fire. Wizards only have one domain, never stepping beyond their lines...

Naturally, Magus was ever the exception. Janus, too, one day.

The second book, 'Timestreams the Ocean', expounded on the ability to traverse and manipulate time. An ever flowing current, it normally flows in a single direction. However, supernatural aspects, such as magic or prophecies, can disrupt this course. Thus two currents exist; the parent current and the 'offspring'...

"Why don't we, the Enlightened, travel time?"

 _Don't get ahead of yourself. In fact, don't go anywhere at all!_ He decided to rattle off some Enlightened propaganda nonsense. "Why would we, the chosen, want to visit the past–it would degrade our excelled intellect! Or go forward to a future not yet written? We are in the present for a reason."

 _That_ didn't convince him. Still, Janus let the matter go.

_If only he knew about me...Oh, the irony could choke!_

...Lastly came Zephyrain's exalted personal writings. He lay down a history of soothsayers such as himself. Years into the past, their were five oracles, including Zephyrain. One of fire, one of ice, one of lightning, one of shadow. The last, himself, had a combination of the aforementioned known as the Magus. A magus was a magician so esteemed that his mental and arcane abilities exceeded that of ordinary magic-welders. Because the dark wizard exhibited amazing abilities in 600 A.D. he'd been dubbed the Magus. Quite an honor, in fact.

Zephyrain was leader of this assemble, all oracles to record the future as historians do the past. But something dreadful occurred that removed all the prophets from this plane of existence. No one knew what. The only record of their existence was Zephyrain's writings. No other oracles had been discovered after the deadly eradication until Magus showed up.

And now, Jarl.

Jarl stood before him.

With the black-maned man's sudden appearance, Magus could not help but suck his breath in harshly. Janus crossed his arms, angry that this self-professed Prophet intruded while Alfador expressed his annoyance with a meow. And that mattered not at all to Jarl.

He strode up to the table with measured ease. His hands rested on the wood. "I need an answer,  _Magus_."

Magus mirrored his tone and actions. "When I'm good and ready you'll hear my response. Not before."

The tension was so thick you couldn't cleave it with an axe. A mutual distaste floated in the room akin a smog. Their eyes, silver to fire-violet, met in violent symphony. Finally, Jarl, amazingly, broke away first. "Then let's talk."

A nod and Magus instructed Janus to leave. With the cat.

When the child seemed on the verge of refusing, the dark wizard promised he would continue the 'discussion' (not teaching, of course!) later. Grumbling all the way out, Janus conceded. With him out of harms way, at least for now, Magus muttered, "I told you: you'll hear it when I feel like answering."

Brushing imaginary lint off his ever-present black cloak, Jarl responded, "No doubt I will. And I know what that answer will be. But enough of that. I'm here because I wanted to notify you that the Queen requests your presence at the public speech she'll make tomorrow. It's to be held down on the Terran Continent. It concerns the outbreak of protests."

To that, Magus shrugged. Even as a child, he'd known that the Earthbound ones had been treated barbarically. So what of it? He hadn't cared. Schala did, naturally. Sometimes she cared too much. How could anyone be so loving, so giving? _Maybe I can't understand it because I am neither loving nor giving. But with Janus, that'll change._

"As well," went on Jarl as his listener's attention returned to the bookshelves. "My assistant wants to speak to you."

"What of?"

"I don't know. At any rate, I believe now would be a decent time to inform you of something. In fact, hearing your conversation with the prince makes it perfect."

"Hmm?"

"You're attempts to change history will fail."

Magus snorted. "So you say."

Losing patience, a rare occurrence, Jarl snared the former prince's arm fiercely. "You fool. You arrogant fool. You think fate will be so kind the second time around? It won't! Who will be Janus, you think? Will you cease to exist? Will  _I_?"

 _Him? What does he have to do with us?_ In anger, Magus pulled away and exited the room. He wanted to hear no more of this idiocy. Just that, idiocy. But the questions arisen, those that plagued him as the dark wizard climbed the stairs and passed through the glorious library, tortured his mind.

_...Lost and irreplaceable..._

He was screwing with destiny. And destiny would screw with him.

On a bench, of gold and ivory, he sat. He was on the path that lead to Kajar, one of Zeal's beautiful cities. Two arms supported a face that remained buried in his palms. His otherworldly cloak rippled in tune to a gentle zephyr. Hair as pure as the sky above him floated softly. The amulet, of aliment protection, pulsed comfortingly. But nothing brought him comfort.

 _How can I change time? And what will the effects be?_ Occasionally other Enlightened would walk the golden road but none ever bothered look his way twice. That suited him just fine.  _Will Janus listen? And if he will what'll happen to me? To us all?_

Magus sighed. After leaving the library an attendant had requested for him to remain at this bench to wait for Alura. The blond woman had become friendly with Queen Zeal and was often busy. But some reason, she demanded for the dark wizard's presence. A discussion, perhaps, on the New Zeal? Magus wasn't in the mood.

So when she arrived, wearing an attractive emerald dress that would make Dalton swoon, the Prophet was first inclined to bark 'Sorry, Jarl already did the daily begging'. However, Alura quickly grabbed his hand and dragged the former prince into the shadows of a near-by tree. Her eyes glittered anxiously.

"What! What is it?" he demanded.

"I..." she hesitated. Finally, Alura murmured, "I think something's wrong with Jarl."

_Like that wasn't obvious._

"He's got an identity crisis, and I'm worried. He wants to create a New Zeal but everything Jarl says makes no sense. I'm–frightened."

It seemed the humanly thing to grip her trembling hands with his own. Magus detested physical contact but he knew that others often found it comforting. Alura was no exception as she smiled. Her golden locks fluttered around him soothingly and, oddly enough, stirringly. She gave him a brief embrace. "Thanks. I don't know what I'm going to do." Squeezing harder, Alura added, "But for some strange reason I feel safer with you."

 _What in the Void?_  Now she made no sense. Magus decided to twist it to his advantage. "Perhaps that is because my plan is more viable. To create is divine. To change is simple." He stroked the silken hair. "Jarl's dream is unreal; mine will be reality."

"I'm afraid."

His harsh eyes softened. "So am I. But I will prevail...so, please, help me."

"I'll think about it..." Alura whispered into his ear.

"Don't think too long."  _How'd everything get so intimate all of a sudden? Well, I'll warp it to my own needs._ Magus' hands lifted up to her cheeks and cupped them. His eyes could be tantalizing when he willed them. He willed so now. His victim trembled–a new kind of fear. Then, the dark wizard kissed her forehead, nose, and lips. Permitting the level of closeness to foment, he added, "Time is not patient and neither am I."

With one last squeeze, Magus walked down the golden street. He never looked back. Though not romantically inclined, the shadow sorcerer was aware of the folly of the heart and the intricacies surrounding it. It was a game he normally abhorred. Now it just might be the one thing that granted success. And he would surrender everything, mind, body, and soul to the salvation of Zeal and the destruction of Lavos.

And destiny be damned.

_I, Magus, will tear the very fabric of time. I'll bend it to my own devices–for I alone have the "enlightenment." And crucial to my quest is knowledge. Those timestream travelers didn't appear here by accident I'll wager. First, I must secure their information then rid myself of them. Now exactly what else to do..._

These thoughts circulated his mind as the shadow sorcerer rode a mobile transport pad. The teleportation pads had uses for instantaneous molecular ferrying from one pad to another. As for the one he currently occupied, it didn't 'scatter his essence to the high winds' as Janus was so fond of relating. Instead, emulating an elevator, it physically delivered him to the inner catacombs of Zeal Palace.

Once the dark wizard stepped off, Magus heard voices. Familiar voices...Schala. Janus. His cat. He frowned. The sounds originated from precisely his destination: that of the incarceration chambers.  _What is she up to? I'd never thought of her as calculating...but with the assassination demands, what else could Schala be? Blessed reaper, now I'm doubting my sister!_

Swiftly navigating the illustrious corridor, the dark wizard passed the tall, exotic plants, several oak bookshelves, and soon found himself in the shadow of the prison's entryway. The scene revealed itself to him. It made Magus quite unhappy.

_Why does the mystery and mischief always surround those damned wanderers?!_

There was his beloved sister in all her benevolent splendor. Her violet robes shivered as the Princess of Zeal deactivated the pods that imprisoned Glenn, Marle, and Crono. One moment they floated in the blue liquid like manti in crystal; the next all three landed on the marble flooring gently and they teetered briefly due to the brutal nature of the pods. The amphibian swordsman twitched, as if he sensed Magus' presence. Probably due to the proximity to the Masemune but the dark wizard flinched with fury. The young princess and the red-haired boy collapsed to the floor, shortly followed by Glenn.

Janus was observing from the side, occasionally protesting the generosity because he dreaded their mother's wrath. Naturally, Schala dispelled his fears and the young boy fell silent. Alfador meowed his assent. Then, the young woman spoke to the wanderers urgently, her hands wrung in uncharacteristic worry. None of the timestream travelers responded, most likely because the pods had drained them beyond answering.

That was the purpose of the infamous pods–to debilitate its victims and guaranteeing their continued imprisonment. As well, his mother had nefarious tastes for punishment. In such an 'enlightened' era one would think such abhorrent measures would be shunned but Magus lived in the future and that had yet to prove any better.

"...I'm going to release them..."

"...you'll get in trouble..."

"...please rescue Melchior..."

Magus caught only the most minimal of the one-sided conversation, something of liberation one of the Gurus. Melchior, the old man in the silly blue-green outfit who quoted like a book. It was all irrelevant to the dark wizard, who figured the Guru, by quarreling with Queen Zeal, had earned his exile. That did not force his hand to step beyond the threshold. No, it was anger.

 _You idiot, Schala! Their freedom is our doom. I love you, but your kindness and foolishness will be the death of us all._ It was a prophecy already fulfilled–one he was trying to prevent. Nothing was working in his favor, apparently.

In little more than a footstep the dark wizard entered. Robes of lavender resonated from him, accentuating his displeased demeanor. He crossed two arms and caught their attention, "I'm afraid I can't allow that."

Alfador started, Janus stiffened, and his darling sister glanced worriedly in his direction. The three travelers did nothing but stare up in complete helplessness. He should kill them now–before it was too late!

He turned to Crono and his companions, and whispered coolly, "Your meddling tires me...you'll just have to disappear!" This Magus fully intended to make happen, lifting his hands for magical preparation, but  _their_  cries halted him.

"You mustn't!" was Schala, who rushed in front of them as if to ward off a blow.

"Stop!" was Janus, commandingly. His cat uttered something incoherent but Magus received the message well enough.

A frown. Which to do–deal mercy or death? Which to his advantage? Might there be a way to profit in a compromise? His hair fluttered like the sky in a storm when the dark wizard shifted his gaze to the protesters. He could easily contemplate why Schala objected but his younger self was a mystery.

A soul cleaved in two, one light, one dark, and one human, one mystic. Even when his crimes never exceeded the occasionally hiding of the Guru's hats, Magus had never been truly innocent. Nor did he ever concern himself with others' welfare.

And she stood there, distressed at his proposal. More shocking still, his younger version, usually so stoic, also objected. Yes, he'd opt for a compromise. He'd trust his own advice (or his alterego's, anyway). As well, the dark wizard wasn't malicious. He wished no one ill. Those pods were particularly cruel...an Earthbound, jealous of his status, had shoved the shadow sorcerer into one years ago. And from the looks on his 'prisoner's' expressions, much like his own had been, the experience was not pleasant.

"Alright, I'll spare them, but in return you will cooperate, Schala!"

***

"Ah, so you came in from here."

Schala, Crono, Marle, Glenn, and Magus stepped within the Terran cave in that order. The dark wizard lingered by the entrance, curious as to the Time Gate and yet deathly afraid of them at the same time. If he should get sucked in one yet again...

 _...I'll probably end up in the Void..._ he noted dryly.

Staring, almost absorbed, at the portal's bright azure point, Magus realized what an impact the time gates had had on his life–twice–and how much of who he was resulted from their interference. No one responded to the statement, only the wind blowing outside the tiny cave. His words reverberated eccentrically in the stone structure like the voice itself were a hundred mirrors. It was damp and cool inside, though, considering the virtual blizzard outside, far preferable.

In the interests of his protection, Schala instructed Janus to stay away. Of course he pouted again, deeming it unfair that 'adults had all the fun' but Magus insisted. The further the boy was from the Time Gates the better. So gone he was.

Looking up from his shadowed hood, the dark wizard hissed, "Now Schala send them through and seal the gate."

She spun around, her face hard, "No! You can't make me!"

Eyes flashing, he strode forward. Glenn looked as if he might jump Magus, already suspicious of the Prophet's nature, had Crono not rested a hand on his shoulder. It was a clear command not to retaliate. Marle loitered by the red-haired leader, lips tight.

Magus snatched his sister's arm and yanked her close. The years spent together, the sibling love, evaporated in that moment. He saw the fear in her eyes. No matter. He was the Prophet and better start acting like it. "You  _will_ obey me, Schala...Their lives–" Magus thrust a gesturing finger at the motley three, "–are at stake!"

"Alright!" she cried in defeat. Pulling free, Schala prepared for the magical summoning and subsequent consumption. Her angelic form positively radiated pure light. She certainly was averse to his touch. Something horrible was happening to their sister-brother connection and Magus detested it.

 _All the more reason to proceed with my plan. I must_ not  _let anything–even Schala's displeasure–to disrupt it._

Turning to the companions, Magus pointed, in no uncertain terms, for the Timestream travelers to go within the portal. Neither was happy to do so but they obeyed. Aware of the futility of resisting, due to their weakened state, he guessed the three ascribed to the 'run today and live to fight another day'. Ah, but they wouldn't be returning any time soon...

After the last had entered, Schala closed her eyes and channeled to her magic. What domain she commanded of the arcane art the dark wizard didn't know, though he figured it was much similar to his own. The hand motions, fluid. The light, eruptive yet subtle. Perfection.

Violet ribbons burst from her upturned palms, effectively connecting with the pulsating gate. This activated the portal, sending the three spinning through time and space. Where they'd landed didn't matter to Magus. Those wanderers were lucky to escape with their heads intact at all...

He shook his head.  _I must be getting soft letting my enemies run free..._

Then, with another ribbon of energy, the portal sealed. A proportionate triangular field enveloped it within purple light and insuring it would no longer be available to abuse. Abuse by such as the troublesome travelers.

In despair Schala sank to her knees and murmured, "...forgive me..."

Magus departed, utterly disgusted. He was the only one in Zeal whose brain still functioned, it seemed. He, alone, was...enlightened.


	6. A Simple, Single Action

_...Death...Is it tragedy or relief? How do you feel as the last breath leaves your lips? Often I have wondered...The 'Enlightened' maintain that a higher consciousness awaits us. But, if true, why do we shun our mortality? Why do we tamper with our terminal existence, as the Zealian Royal Family, namely Queen Zeal, have done? Death...something I can not claim to have intimate knowledge of. Ah, but if I am to die I must simply laugh..._

The eyes shut. With a mere flick of his gloved fingers–that's it.

A simple, single action said so much.

She was dead.

Death. Cessation of life. Commence of unlife. At least, that was how the esteemed Enlightened scholars defined it as. They crafted an intelligent explanation: the end of this existence where the soul passes onto another of immortality. A more detailed and essentionally bullshit defintion had been written in the Tomes of Everlasting Existence, adding how those of magic-blood would transcend these laws and reach godhood without the usual requirement of fatality.

The 'brilliant' scholars also went on to add that life is matter in an energy state. Our bodies are merely vessels and thus, imperfect. From soil to soil, from light to light. In Enhasa, the City of Dreams, one Enlightened articulated that our destiny is set before us in a several paths. We may select a branch but ultimately the hand of fate has final say.

_...If time is to change, let it change. If the world is to be destroyed, so be it. If I must die, then I must simply laugh..._

Yes, he might alter time. Yes, this beautiful kingdom might 'die'.

Would he, as well?

Laugh at death...Still, Magus thought moodily, he wouldn't mind breaking a few of fate's fingers at its creulity yet again. He, who fate had snapped at so harshly and at which he'd railed at with such conviction. Nor did he mourn for her; but for himself, and the lost opportunities. His mind wandered to the rivers of time, in the pool of memory hours before this tragedy...

Soft, blew the wind through the triangular, gold-rimmed window, stirring the exotic plants that stood in all corners of the blue, otherworldly tiled mini-shrine. Dull sunlight spilled down from the crystal, mulit-faceted dome ceiling. In the stained glass, the drawing of Queen Zeal could be seen. In a smaller section of the beautiful design was Zephyrain, his azure eyes flawless in this setting. That light showered on the porportionate technologically-and-magically fueled teleportation pad. It gleamed. Ready.

They were instructed to file within the pool of radiance and inside of the magical field. They obliged. One among them, a violet-robed wizard, stepped reluctantly, indecision in his stance. Brief though that reluctance be, it spoke volumes of the feelings and thoughts he hid beneath a barrier of no emotion.

Magus sighed. He just didn't know what exactly of.

The "prophet", as he was known, stood immaculately erect then, aware of the requirement of stillness for the spell. As ever, the lavender cloak concealed his features, affording him a stature of engimatic elegance. Blue silken hairs darted out of the cowl, and he was forced to shove them back in again.

To his left stood the flaxen-haired Alura, bejeweled and beautiful in an azure dress that mirrored her eyes. Those eyes flickered to the former Zealian Prince in a manner that Magus found distinctly uncomfortable. Her intents were obvious. So were his–his mind was his mission. He would hold naught but victory in his arms, love only his quest. Nothing else.

Except, maybe Schala.

No. Maybe even his dear sister did not matter any more.  _Where did that come from?_

The two, as well as Schala and Dalton, all stood upon the teleportation pad as it glimmered a soft purplish-blue with an intricate pattern renowned in Zeal. An Enlightened, dressed as a peacock, was currently weaving a dimension spell that would transport the Prophet, Princess and the Queen's two Advisors to the Terran Continent. The odd quartet were among the remnants of Zeal's High Council to be delegated. Jarl, the remaining Gurus, Prince Janus, and the Crown's finest scientists, had gone ahead to make ready for the audience with Queen Zeal.

Percisely behind him was his sister on the upper left portion of the pad. Her sweet nature was tempered with worry. He hated seeing his sister like that–abhorred the now distorted memory. A whole now dimension sprang before Magus, that of less than happy times. Still, her heart was more steel than his scythe. Blotting out the emotion, as he always did, the Prophet noted with disgust and thinly-veiled fury how Dalton, to his sister's left, had his own lecherous agenda. Thus far, Schala had resisted his efforts, but the Queen's one-eyed advisor never acknowledged his failure–as if he were too 'beautiful' to be rejected by anyone.

 _That's all this damned world needs_ , acrimously thought Magus. Dalton was one of the few who hadn't changed from his youthful years. Shame, indeed.  _As if the kingdom isn't even in enough peril. People like him will ensure its damnation._

The former prince forcefully shook the thoughts out of his head. Concentrating on the next action to be taken, the prophet found his conscious not cooperating. It, instead, wandered to the question of Zeal's suddenly announced Terran visit. Rare is that a queen, herself, speaks, letting her aids vocalize her royal will with their words.

The Earthbound. Those rebellious anarchists violated the laws once again. Though Magus loved his sister dearly and despised Queen Zeal almost to the point of self-denial of parentage, he reluctantly admitted that his own ideology more closer mirrored their mother's. From the queen did a young Janus inherit his distaste of those devoid magic. It seemed illogical, what with Schala's loving guidance to his own common defect of no magic with the Earthbound. Yet, maybe that was why he hated them. That was the greatest factor, looking at a mirror and not liking what he saw.  _They_ were the mirror.  _They_  were what he not liked seeing in himself.

The Enlightened 'peacock' proceeded though the final stages of the teleport spell as his mind continued in the avenues of thought. Most recently, the sabotage committed by the Earthbound had escalated. One rag-tag band sought to shut down the Mammon Machine! Rumor had it that Melchior, on Woe Mountain, had even organized the ill-fated attempt...Magus shook his head again, half-amused, half-annoyed. Fools. It failed, of course, but his mother–rather, Queen Zeal–did not take kindly to the disruption. She was never a patient woman. He had no doubt that this briefing would address the recent attacks.

As the Enlightened activated the platform, Dalton, frustrated by his lack of success, pressed forward with his own vile designs. A hand snaked over in an attempt to squeeze Schala's left breast. As explicitly stated in the tomes dealing with teleportation, the subjects in transport are to stay motionless. Dalton failed to adhere to the reasonable safety precaution.

All four spun in the colorless existence that sustained them in mid-flight. Things went awry, as result of the advisor's foolishness. The light whipped about sickeningly. Alura cried out and snatched the prophet's arm. In his own disconcert, Magus neglected to admonish her for the display. Schala expertly dodged Dalton's clumsy advance and the flourishly-attired man stumbled into the three.

At last they landed. Hard.

They sprawled upon the cold hard-packed snow of the Terran Continent, several feet from their intented destination of another like-designed shrine. Several Zealian guards, startled by the unpreceedented, and graceless, appearance of the four, rushed over to help them up. Magus declined with a snarl while Dalton needed three to aid him to his feet. Schala and Alura both availed of a guard each, hair ruffled like sun-gold and crystal-water.

Angrily, Schala slapped her assailant's next efforts away. That made Magus even more furious. He made his displeasure vocal. "Dalton, if you touch her highness again, I'll splatter your water-colored ass on the wall!" Briefly the former prince even flirted with the idea of carrying out his threat and, indeed, the mind's image of an Enlightened attendant having to scrap Dalton off the wall for weeks did have appeal, but the sorcerer of shadow knew it was ill-advised. Surprizingly enough, Dalton played a pivotal (or at least partial) role in Lavos' summoning, so he couldn't risk it. A sigh, then another. No, far better to endure the overdressed clown, than jeopardize his plans on vented irritation. Satisfying himself with the mere mental manifestation of the advisor's demise, a cold smile touched his lips.

_Now, wouldn't that be beautiful..._

This didn't sit well with Dalton, however. His pride bruised, his intelligence insulted, he stormed over at Magus. The pose he fabricated amused the dark wizard immensely, like Alfador when he was all bristled up. Seeing his opponent harmless, Magus opted to walk in the direction of the audience platform but Dalton called him an 'Earthbound coward'.

As said, Magus hated being compared to an Earthbound.

As the prophet and advisor stood face to face, their intents obvious to all, Schala interfered. To have them commit violence, for her that would not do. Ever the peacemaker (or pacifist, depending on the viewpoint) the blue-haired beauty scolded both as she would Janus.

Still, they seemed determined to settle the matter by such means.

As the conventional formula became apparently ineffectual, Alura stepped in. A hand on each shoulder and a smile for both, she silkily stated, "Fighting over me? Oh, how quaint! Well, I perfer if my champions fight undressed..."

While Magus was a bit put out at the statement, Dalton seemed fired up all the more. Of course, his interest had nothing to do with chivalry. Irked at the persumptous tone of Alura, the wizard of shadow instead turned to their destination once again rather than correct her. Some distance beyond the snow dunes stood a wintery clearing. There the Queen would make an appearance.

Dipping against the wind, he inelegantly rolled two fire-lavender eyes. It was bitterly cold and he huddled within the velvet cloak to avoid the wind. Over the still horizon the platform came to Magus' bleary sight. Made of steel and stone, it hoisted two daises. One for the elite inner circle of Zeal; one for the Queen herself, with a massive golden throne.

Enlightened and Earthbound milled about the snow-covered terrain, though never with each other as should be. No Earthbound should taint the magic-proficient with their...taint...Yes, he hated the Earthbound; he hated the mirror.

Magus eyed a skeletal tree, already under siege from the extreme cold, and posted himself there. The exhilarated whispers of the Enlightened and the worried mutters by their not-so-glorious cousins surged past him, like the wind, distracting and vexing but soon forgotten. Beneath his numbled fingers the pendant glowed. The former leader of mystics found his resolve waning to proceed with his quest. He was merely moving from point A to point B and accomplishing nothing. Could he sit so idle and watch the insanity unfold...again!?

_Unacceptable. Remember your mission. Remember your sister. Remember yourself._

A hand came down on his shoulder. Magus looked up. Alura's azure-eyed gaze upon him was most unsettling, yet somehow comforting. How possible? But then his mere existence in this time–interacting with his own younger version notwithstanding!–was even further beyond all rationality. She leaned against the brittle bark, beautiful face inquiring and beguiling.

Panning the scene, ignoring Alura, the dark sorcerer saw his younger self being caged between the Gurus of Reason and Time. Unknown to them, Janus had switched their hats which made for a wonderful row by the Earthbound and Enlightened alike. Poor Gurus couldn't guess what prompted the laughter. Jarl, opulent as ever in a blue-and-silver ensemble, spoke gracefully with Schala. His sibling seemed distressed and the young man did his best to alleviate her worries.

Just as the former prince was about to rise, Alura grabbed his hand. He frowned and she smiled. His knited brows bade the blond woman speak.

"Ah, Magus...I want to...talk to you..."

Blinking his eyes, Magus sighed, "Alright–but make it quick!"

Hesitation. In her eyes. In her whole stance. Still, she overcame the wariness and draped two hands about his neck. Alura's moist lips sought his own but Magus immediately pulled away, watching her guardedly. Again, her advance. And again, his refusal.

"What's the meaning of...this?!"

When the dark wizard backed up against the cold tree, the blond woman trailed her fingers down his chest. "Describe to me what you are feeling."

 _Irritating woman..._ "Nothing. I don't understand."

"Oh, but you do! You can't look me in the eye and claim to be lifeless!"

Clearly it was Alura who did not comprehend. There was no place in his life for anything, anyone. A soldier on the battlefield must concentrate on war, not love–or lust, for that matter. "I feel, Alura," he whispered cooly. "I hurt. I rejoice. I get angry. I feel it all. But, unlike some people, I don't let my emotions get the better of  _me_."

The Barrier. Would he ever be free of it?

_No! It is not a prison. It is the thing that liberates me from the insanity that chains both Enlightened and Earthbound alike!_

As cold as the Black Wind, the leader of the Mystics turned abruptly from Alura and trudged up the rostrum. Her disappointment floated after him, though she was definitely not totally disillusioned. Softly sultry, came her words, "Someday, you will feel, prophet."

He retorted, "Don't hold your breath."

Everyone assembled with the sound of Jarl's voice commanding them to do so: the Enlightened on the platform, the Earthbound on the snowy plains. None stepped upon the throne dais. That, alone, belonged to her royal majesty. Audience formally commenced with Dalton's pompous (and ass-kissing) praises to the Queen, orating her endless virtues, her eternal beauty, her lasting compassion. All the Zeal High Council took to a crescent-shaped pattern upon the platform. An island, the final dais, remained empty. Of Zeal herself, there was no immediate sign.

Mercifully, the one-eyed advisor ceased his drivel and Jarl resumed. His smooth voice had a hypnotic affect on the crowd. There was something entirely unworldly about the black-haired sorcerer. The words were brief but powerful, all in the delivery. "Attend, Zeal's subjects! Please give cheer as we receive her Royal Majesty, the wonderful Queen Zeal!"

Magus could not help but watch in fearful awe. She descended from the heavens, or rather the Zeal Palace, in a pillar of iridescent cone-shaped light. Brilliant ripples marked her feet touching the marble platform seconds before her–like walking over water. With a disdainful sneer, she reclined in the golden throne.

 _She's powerful..._ A horrific thought passed through him, sharp as a knife.  _What if I must kill her to destory Lavos? Will I? Can I? How does one defeat a demi-god?_

But defeat her he must, Magus knew. Or Lavos would prevail.

A muted silence filled the center. None dared speak as the Queen herself is present without her elicit approval. But the Monarch of Zeal looked anything but approving. Oh, Magus could see the outer-coating of sugar-tooth pleasantries, but unlike most, the mask of gracious did not conceal the maliciousness for him. His half-flame, half-violet eyes darted to Janus, sandwiched between the Gurus. Yes, he could see the child shudder in disgust and fear. Yes, even then he'd known.

At last, Zeal stood. All eyes, upon her.

"I've heard a rumor. A very vicious rumor. A rumor that some of my beloved subjects are unhappy about my more than generous rule. I, who have sacrificed time, effort, and money into your protection and comfort–and ye shall turn upon me! I will not have it!"

Disfavor passed through the assembled throng. The Enlightened glared on their cousins and their cousins upon them. Schala looked most distressed. Dalton, though frightened by the animosity, feigned indifference. Janus appeared about to bolt, forced to restraint his cat from doing so (And why was Alfador present, anyway? Janus probably illegally smuggled him in, Magus mused), the Gurus exchanging concerned gazes. Alura and Jarl whispered in excitement.

As was the norm his mind wandered off to the days of his dreaded childhood, reevoked by the sight of his younger self. Indeed, as the eight year old brat, the prince had known of his popularity level–or lack thereof. He'd been too emotional, too blunt, and too unyielding, others claimed with a haughty air. It earned him no friends, but plenty of enemies. As politcal maneuvering occasionally became necessary as a Mystic, the dark wizard realized carefully chosen words sometimes won out in the end...rare that, though. He preferred brute force to the speed of his tongue then. But, now, Magus knew sheer deception and a delicate balance of trust was all that kept him from total disaster. Him, and all of Zeal.

Still, his inner intensity only fluttered beneath the cold surface. A layer of ice and civility concealed what was truly a boiling pond of severity. No one accepted him, so Magus would have to accept himself. A glance around, seeing all the approving looks, made him desire vomiting. They cared not for him. He cared not for them.  _I could never stand the two-faced, prim and proper Enlightened. But nor could I stand those primitive Eartbound with their radical naturalistic views...Then, I don't belong in either category, either time..._

Appalled at his own lack of control, glad that his barrier prevented visual demostration, the prophet continued to listen to the Queen's speech.

"Recently a motley crew of insurgents, unhappy with my more than generous rule, turned on the glorious Zeal Kingdom and assaulted–maliciously attacked!–the source of our infinite happiness, the Mammon Machine. The sheer insanity...Why, oh why, my beloved subjects?"

 _Why? Because of the source of our infinite happiness, you dolt! But then, the Earthbound have little conception of the true danger, or about how to vanquish it..Idoits, all of them._ Of course, Magus noted, if someone were to scare Alfador, his violet cat would still run without pause even when it was evident that he was quite safe. Did the dark wizard really expect anything different from the low-born dirt-eaters?

"I will no longer take this insubordination without action. Too long, I've overlooked a few dissentors for the sake of the rest. But here stands a real threat. As of today, by my royal decree, all Earthbound must submit to a bi-monthly report of all transactions, especially those dealing with weapons. Furthermore, an annual house check will be conducted. All resistance to this law will be met with force by my guards. I do this in the best interests of both our peoples."

With a preemptive gesture to her advisor, and Dalton leapt to his feet like a puppet–ableit a very willing puppet. He scurried to the Queen's side and proudly declared, "Audience dismissed." Despite the mundaneness of such a statement he invested more splendor than strictly necessary.

Like the ebb of an intensifying tide, so did the angry murmurs pass through the crowd. Dark faces glowered, eyes flashed, lips curled in a tight line. Several Earthbound surged forward, shoving those in front into a metal barrier. That, of course, only encouraged the fuel that was the flames of discontent.

At first only a few dared vocal dissent but soon others joined the pandemonium of unrest. Insults showered the Enlightened gathered, and they recoiled in fear. Guards pressed back the crowd, a few choice words to settle the mess. But it refused to be dealt with that easily. Some shouted that the Queen was subjugating them; others, that she devised their deaths. Still more claimed that both the prophet (which one in particular they were referring to Magus couldn't tell) and the Monarch's right hand man each had evil plans for them. And the black wall of noise and verbal abuse swirled in the cold wintery air.

In the center of the sound was his mother's incoherent screams of indignance, her eyes like windows into the void. It seemed as if she could melt the entirety of Zeal Palace with that gaze. Perhaps she could. As for the former prince himself, Magus felt a spasm of panic. If the crowd should lose all reason, how long could they last out...a dozen Enlightened against several hundred Earthbound?

Not long, not long at all.

And then it came, as he knew it would.

An idiot Earthbound threw a  _rock_  at the Monarch of Zeal.

As much as the former prince had thought that the Earthbounds' brains consisted of mere dun, he was sure of it now. Though the effort fell a foot short, the sentiment was not lost on her majesty. The fact that it dared, despite its ineffectiveness, to inflict even the minimalist slight on the Queen was a grievous offense in itself. Certainly his mother seemed livid enough already. In an instant, the Zealian Royal Guard rushed to her defense. They formed a human wall around her like a general might command of his troops in combat.

That only served to irate her subjects more. They proceeded to shower with more rocks,

with more instensity, more hatred. Sticks followed. And knives. Soon all depiction of refinement disintergrated. "Death to the tyrant Queen and those scum that worship her!" came another young voice.

"Kill her evil servants!"

"Slay her! Slay them! Slay them all!"

Magus could not virtually believe his ears. Nor his eyes as the mob descended. Additional guards appeared, driving the oppressed forces back. Still they resisted, washing as waves over a shoreline. The majority could be restrained but each time a few of the more frenzied dissatisfied broke through, like those same waves reached the distant grass. Rather than risk her majesty's health, and maybe her life, the Palace Guards slayed the most incensed dissenters. Schala shouted for both sides to halt but neither listened. Janus was screaming loud enough to shatter his older self's eardrums but even he was only a pale whisper to the shrieks of ire by his mother.

 _Dear reaper, and I thought only_ I _could make her_ that _angry...apparently not._

Meanwhile Jarl raced to front, where the platform met the ground, using some wind magic to thrust the Earthbound into one another. Magus knew he must act, but as to what eluded him. Several more guards formed a line to repel the forces, but, that, too, subsequently crumbled. Now the Earthbound threatened the platform, and those upon it. Janus, the Gurus, Alura, his mother, Jarl, even Schala could be slaughtered in this maddening mob.

In horror, Magus watched Schala run to Jarl's side and into the fray, a beautiful warrior angel. And a warrior angel about to perish. He desperately cried out her name but to no avail. Queen Zeal continued to scream in near unintelligible fury. "Kill those seditionists! Kill them!"

In the midst of the melee, Alfador howled and took off. Echoing a similar cry, Janus chased after his fading feline friend, dodging the Guru's attempts to seize him. Glancing at each other in exasperation and fear, they too fled off the platform. Whatever miracle kept them from being hacked to pieces by the wild crowd evaded the former Mystic leader. The comical duo followed the prince, determined to protect one of the heirs to Zeal.

Seeing himself safe, at least for the time being, Magus erected a shield of physical protection over his beloved sister. Impeccable timing, too, he noted, as the wall activated just as an Earthbound had unleashed a deadly knife upon the blue-haired princess. Though surely the source of her salvation must have stunned Schala, she continued struggling to save both peoples as if nothing occurred.

 _Foolish, dear sister. So foolish! Why save such worthless creatures?_ He, himself, would have intervened had not the guards thickened around the platform. And in the air something distinctly, and dreadfully, familiar contaminated the very oxygen he breathed...the Black Wind...

As he struggled with the amassed human barricade, in the brief distance he could see Jarl dodge an array of arrows meant to slay him outright. It distracted the black-haired 'other' prophet in his precasting mediation but did not ultimately force the wizard to surrender his task. The color of magic illuminated him while he blazed past another shower of death. At the completion a massive, multi-spectrum forcefield sprang between the Earthbound and the Enlightened. It was a much more potent version of Magus' own shield on Schala, affecting myriads of people, protecting both usurpers as well as their 'cousins'.

Desperately Magus shoved the duo of guards to his front aside, but was still unable to break free. The screams coming from all directions were as a dozen steel blades to the brain and with apprehension he noted the metallic taste of blood. That was bound to happen sooner or later, what with all the weapons in the air and the Earthbound's deaths. His otherworldly eyes also caught sight of Jarl again and the wizard's magical actions mystified him. Was Jarl just as foolish as his sister–saving that which was not worth saving? Then the approving looks from both Queen and daughter afforded him insight into Jarl's duplicity. Of course he'd play both ends against the middle!

 _Slick bastard!_ Magus thought, eyes narrowed dangerously.  _Figures. It is Jarl, after all._

Meanwhile, Dalton had remained frozen stiff in terror. At the height of the particularly heated confrontation, with seething Earthbound leaking through Jarl's magical veil, the Queen's advisor darted for the snow dunes, hiding beside one until the violence could run its bloody course. A coward to the end.

 _Cowardly bastard!_ That made him smile sadistically.  _Figures. It is Dalton, after all._

At last, the blue-haired former prince tore into the human mesh and snatched Schala's arm. She resisted, begging the guards not to slaughter those who'd evaded the shield. They did not heed, the request of mercy countermanded by her mother's scream for blood. And that there was; it permeated the air as the wind itself.

The smell of blood. The smell of death.

_Death?! Who's dying now?!_

Both Earthbound and _Enlightened_ –that's who.

What was once a mere protest to unfair terms escalated into a roit. A bloody riot. A deadly riot. For shortly thereafter, Jarl's endurance failed him due to the strain of magic's toll and the sheer weight of hundreds of dissented people. Thus, like a ocean meets sand the two collided in a terrible force of fury and fear. The whole reason why to fight became forgotten as they screamed and slaughtered, sobbed and were slain. Magus lost his hold on his sister and she merged with the maddening crowd again, lost to him.

Had his own life not been in question Magus would have dove for her. But a knife, aimed for his heart, made the dark wizard parry with his scythe. Yes, indeed, it took more assassination attempts but finally Magus knew his life was at risk. The necromancer could stand death, the ruinous end to his mission. But to lose Schala, again...

Releasing his own war cry, he swept the scythe out in a powerful flourish. Several died in a single swing. More blood flooded, some caking his cloak and hair, lingering smells of the massacre. The Gurus and Janus could not be seen within his limited viewpoint. He would have to trust the old men to protect himself as the young boy. Schala was still shouting for both sides to cease, but like all the other shrieks, it vanished beneath a sea of rage.

 _Dodge, Magus. Slash. Wait until the next swing. Now! Again!_ His entire body set to auto-kill. It all inundated him, years of brutal training and even more brutal hands-on experience.

One mighty downward cut. An Earthbound joined the ghastly pile. A smooth sideways thrust. Another down. Then he parried another's lethal blow. Harder. Then duck. Come up into the gut. And a third soul was dispatched that shameful day. The lust of both peoples of Zeal, one to master, the other to revolt, had lead to this disaster.

Sweat stung his fiery eyes and the sorcerer of shadow panted most viciously. He felt a tug on his arm and he recognized Jarl. The "other" prophet was of better straits, resorting to magical attacks, leaving many paralyzed Earthbound. Magus, murderous eyes blazing, had been about to shove him aside when he received a good view of the battleground.

Bodies. Everywhere.

The battle was over... _What, in the Void, just happened here?_

Sharp sunlight glistened over Schala's bent form, she who wept over some fallen young boy. A stab of fear pierced him as Magus considered that might be his younger self. But, mercifully, upon closer examination, it was merely some unfortunate Earthbound. His crimson-violet eyes trailed to his mother who was paradoxically pleased and annoyed at the display. "Stupid Earthbounds..." she muttered, "Got themselves killed."

_They're not the only ones..._

Certainly not. The rebellion had finally been repelled but at such a high cost. Many Enlightened lay on the snow, stilled forever. Cries of anguish, and vengance, filled the air. There would be retribution, hell to pay. Little good that would serve the departed, however, Magus noted grimly. Though more Earthbound had been killed, neither side could perceive this as a victory. Butchery, maybe. Victory, no.

Ultimate body count numbered over two dozen, for both sides. Blood shone in crimson pools beneath a pale sun. Each step Magus had to gauge before proceeding any further. He'd observed from afar, leaving his distraught sister to her grief. Such a bleeding heart. Now, as the dark wizard arrived, she flinched when his hand came down on her shoulder.

Venomous came her whisper, "You call yourself a prophet, but what sort of oracle murders innocents? More of a hired assassin..."

Magus found he could not reply. When he desired to respond, to refute such a cruel assessment and her perverse image of him, all the former prince could manage was a negative grunt. Her angry eyes forced him to look away. Now she knew. Now she'd witnessed the savagery of his black soul. The Black Winds had finally infested his soul. At that moment, Magus didn't much like himself.

Who'd survived? His glance identified the living forms of a frightened Janus, the Gurus of Time and Reason, his irate mother and a most agitated Alfador. At first, the violet-cloaked man dared to dream that Dalton had perished. No such luck, as he caught the cowered form of the Queen's advisor–if there was but one aspect the nercomancer admired it was the blond man's resourcefulness. Damn, why couldn't Dalton be good at anything but surviving? Such was life.

Where was Jarl? And Alura?

Carefully, he stepped about the broken bodies and accounted for the former. Jarl was also genuflected, facial features hidden by frayed sable hair. Through ribbons of crimson life-fluid, Magus walked to reach him, intent on questioning him as to why the Earthbound had reacted so violently. In the backdrop of the silence, Queen Zeal's booming voice could be heard, ordering an immediate investigation and the possible apprehending of the ringleaders concerning the matter. The guards split up, half to remain and ensure her majesty's safety, the others to see to her royal will. Some rushed past the blue-haired wizard who ignored them and knelt by Jarl's side. In disasters such as this, rank, formality, and other rivalries meant little to him.

The other man looked up with a gaunt face. A most grave expression, most haunted eyes–distraught more than Magus had ever seen him. Then, his own eyes trailed from Jarl to the shattered remains of what must have been an astonishingly beautiful woman.

There was but one person unaccounted for...

"Oh, Alura..." Magus breathed.

Like he feared to destory an already ravaged face and body, Jarl pulled his sister into his arms. Unshed tears shined in his silvery eyes as he stroked burnt locks that once gleamed as gold. Magus' lips formed a question that the other prophet answered quietly. "An arrow, laced with a flaming liquid...it made contact square on her forehead...and exploded on impact..." came the disjointed reply.

The former Mystic leader asked softly, "Is she...?"

Jarl didn't answer. Nor did he need to.

Tragic. So tragic. But, try as he might, Magus could but feel little beyond the slightest sting of sorrow. And that sorrow was more for himself than anyone else. This whole sordid mess would likely make his mission that much harder to acheive. His quest was in jeopardy. The dark wizard had hoped that Alura could persuade her brother to surrender his suicidal crusade to create a 'New Zeal' and join him in the struggle to salvage the current Zeal. Now, because of her death, his hopes were dashed.

Jarl wasn't likely to preserve a kingdom of discord. And Magus could hardly blame him.

The blue-haired prophet gazed at the azure dress of his sister Schala. Then he switched back to Jarl arranging Alura's fragmented body into some intimation of decency. The premonition and subsequent parallelism was most singularly horrifying. What if, in his dangerous battle with Lavos, Schala should be killed? How could he forgive himself? Was it worth it?

The eyes shut. With a mere flick of his gloved fingers–that's it.

A simple, single action said so much.


	7. Walking Wounded

_...I was innocent once...In the magical Kingdom of Zeal...But I was a different person then. City of Dreams...Idiotic. More like the City of Nightmares. Why do I struggle to preserve that which does not earn such dedication? Ah, my dear Schala, that which I endure for you. Now comes the deadly decision. A day, a mere day. My Day of Lavos._

_The Black Winds._

Ever present they'd been, since first breath and, he suspected, until the last. How ironic, and appropriate, should they touch his wounded soul upon this day. The touch of death, the cry of the dying...Yes, always those cursed Black Winds.

Those winds knifed Magus, rendering his austere lavender Cloak of Concealment useless against the wintry onslaught. Today, the advent of her funeral, and that many others. Oh, the former prince couldn't care less about the loss of few insignificant Earthbound. Nor could he really be bothered with the death of even his kin, the Enlightened. Sometimes, the dark wizard wondered even if his quest had any purpose–why save the world when there remain so few that deserve to live upon it?

Continuing his trek across the chill plains to North Cape, the shadow sorcerer swept that thought away immediately. Such thoughts surely could not be productive. Now more than ever he must stay steadfast to his mission. Jarl seemed completely incorrigible now. At the lavish ceremony, full of Terran flowers and ivory Zealian birds, he'd broke down and with an air of impending doom, had fled.

That made for quite a row. Magus smirked grimly. Dalton had been positively distressed at the display while his mother had appeared less than amused. Schala, as was her nature, looked upon with sympathy. Jarl's words 'Fire in the Skies. Darkness shall Arise' had ripped any expression from his own face, however. Now he cursed fervently.

Fate had screwed him. Again.

All of his delicately-crafted plans–ruins. Or soon to be. With Alura's untimely death, her brother seemed more determined than ever to pursue his current course of action. It symbolized the irredeemable loss that was to become the late Kingdom of Zeal. Oh, why did this have to happen? So close, so near the goal...

Lost and irreplaceable. He longed to scream until Lavos himself joined in a discordant symphony of hate. Until they all went mad. But no, he could not. To scream was to permit a trickle of emotion past his barrier. What left there was hinged on his composure. Fate didn't deal him a particularly pleasing hand. So what of it? It never had. Never would.

Pulling his cloak to ward off the preliminary waves of cold, Magus glimpsed up North Cape. The cruel sun reflected off the ice and snow, momentarily blinding but providing no heat nor light. It had taken some pains and time but the former leader of the Mystics located his ally/adversary, narrowing his search to the Terran Continent. Though he loathed interacting with their kind, Magus resorting to asking the Earthbound for their assistance. For his rank alone, the village elder had related that Jarl haunted North Cape.

And so he was, a tall dark figure bent in thought.

From his view, Jarl seemed deep in concentration. Magus frowned, one elbow supporting another as a single finger came up to his chin. Was Jarl contemplating a New Zeal? He must do something about that. Swiftly as fallen snow, the dark wizard crossed over the crystalline shores, the gentle rumbles of the ocean echoing in his wake. Shadows, wove by the outcrop, hued the cape as wandering souls. High above, the sky expanded in a soft afternoon blue, glittering in the stillness of the glass waters. He climbed the cliff with a levitation spell, not warning Jarl of his arrival. A magnificent view, though unlikely enough the reason for the other prophet's presence.

That prophet remained erect, with little indication of the half-rage, half-grief, he'd exhibited at Alura's ceremony. An illusion, Magus knew. Jarl was an expert at the art of manipulating thoughts and feelings, as concealing as the cloak the blue-haired wizard now don. If the two had been friends, Magus might have inquired if he could acquire that ability. But friends they were not.

More like bitterly divided brothers who tip both scales of deceit and trust.

Sidestepping a stone in his path, Magus stood parallel to the prophet and laid a hand upon his shoulder. Softly he asked, "Will you be okay?" Comfort was hardly the dark wizard's domain–killing was more fun to learn, anyway–but nothing else would do.

Jarl's eyes flickered. "A subjective and entirely immeasurable term, but, yes, I'll be fine."

Magus inhaled and dropped his hand. "What's to happen now?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all...We wait."

"For what?" Magus' stomach tightened–a sure sign he was unlikely to enjoy this.

"Lavos' appearance, but of course."

But of course. Lavos. The dark wizard detested that name. Glenn viewed his name as curse, a word of ill fortune and imminent evil. Magus saw Lavos as much the same. For as long as a child of eight could remember that dark force haunted him. It was as if, should Lavos fall, everything would be right in the world again. He  _had_  to believe in that. If not, the pillar of his strength–his hate of the beast and the 'knowledge' that its death would bring happiness–would collapse. And with it, him.

His breath hitched as Magus recalled that a single day, as a sole star in a patch of midnight, remained before the creature's summoning. Soon, face to face. The initial encounter had ended disastrously–for him. A young boy, swept away in a storm, his little world, shattered. The second had gone little better. A mere week ago, the necromancer stood upon the brink of its destruction when a motley crew crashed his abode.

Melchoir was fond of saying 'the third's the charm', thought Magus with a sardonic smile. May it be so. Scratching his chin, the dark wizard began, "Jarl...I think you are going about this the wrong way."

"Oh?" The black-haired man looked intrigued. "Explain."

Magus gritted his teeth. Dislike instantly flowed within and no amount of sympathy could disillusion it. But with necessity came desperation. And with desperation came..."The death of your sister should mean change is needed. Leaving Zeal to be destroyed is not the answer. Death is not rebirth. It is not the beginning. It is the end. We cannot let Zeal be lost. We must save it– _then_  reform it."

Jarl glanced over the ocean waves. They rippled with the slight breeze offering a most surreal feeling. His eyes glittered as he whispered, changing the subject, as was his custom. "You're afraid..." He glanced up quickly to snare Magus' gaze. "Aren't you?"

Afraid? Hardly that. Still, the dark wizard stiffened. Two fire-and-violet eyes flashed. Perhaps he was, perhaps not. Either way, the former prince attempted heartily to mask any further emotion. A wonderful thing, to be able to fold his feelings into neat little piles and shove them away into the drawers of the mind.

Magus cut with a hand. "Ridiculous. I am merely analyzing all the available options. Waiting hardly seems productive."

Jarl continued on as if uninterrupted. "Your fear will be the death of her. Because of ignorance, you choose to fight blindly, heedless of the havoc you will render. You will lose, not only your life, but her's."

No need to spell out who 'her' referred to. Magus knew well enough. Originally the dark wizard had intended to steer the other prophet into his desired path–but the destination was long gone and the location itself seemed lost. Instead of Jarl relenting and following him to salvage the current Zeal, the necromancer found himself more and more considering altering his mission to align with Jarl's. Magus caught himself and set about to halt it. "Wait? You think we should wait until the Queen summons Lavos and becomes indestructible? What if that happens, what if she becomes too powerful while we sit and 'wait'?"

This time Jarl's hand lay upon his shoulder. "Patience, Magus. Isn't she worth that much to you?"

Irritably, the former prince slapped the arm away. "And so, if we sit like good little boys, Schala will be fine?" Acidic venom leaked into his words, as intended, but so did thinly-veiled desperation. His barrier, for all the times it hid his pain and frustration, seemed inadequate against the torrent of apprehension he now felt. Like the cloak, it concealed him but did not fully shield from suffering on many fronts. His love of his sister exceeded the boundaries of the gate.

And, in some ways in which Magus could not explain, his mission meant more than even the beloved Schala... _Where had that thought come from?_

Jarl did not immediately retort. Instead he sat on the ledge of North Cape, admiring the view. His eyes followed the lines in the great ocean, traced the reflected sun in the waves and in the crisp sky. His lips hinted with a smile. "She would have loved to see this..."

"Alura?"

"Yes...I...I miss her..."

The alteration in mind-set struck Magus as odd. Anything even remotely smacking of out-of-the-norm would be persecuted by his meticulous suspicion. Yet, Jarl's change in subject made no sense to the dark wizard.  _Maybe I am paranoid. Maybe he just misses her..._

When Jarl gestured for Magus to sit beside him, the former prince declined. As the silence stretched, Magus' mind wandered, as it often did. He had a vivid imagination, the likes of which he could torture himself with. If he only did this...hadn't done that...

"If Schala dies, too, would you miss her?"

Magus frowned. He hated any subject pertaining to his feelings. Speaking of feelings often evoked them and the necromancer knew the topic of his sister, combined with emotions, was a recipe for his manipulation. A saying, told by one of the Gurus, rang as a pin drop in a silent chamber: 'It's the nature of the beast to chase futile, and often dangerous, dreams. We are as the cat that loves fish yet hate the feel of water. Unlike the cat, however, we can not swim. We yearn and pine until we find ourselves within the dark waters and pulled undercurrent. Despite the knowledge of the consequences, we fall to our own dark desires and foolishness.'

Not a particularly pleasant thought, but then he wasn't a particularly pleasant person.

Eyes squinted, the sorcerer picked among the pieces of conversation and selected the most serviceable to disillusion Jarl from using him. "While that is strictly my business, quite honestly I would not."

Jarl smiled with all the sweetness of salt. Unconvinced. His hands extended behind his back to support himself. Winds murmured, as a child tugging an adult's coat–vexing but soon forgotten. It played with the black strands of Jarl's hair as it did with Magus' own. That puzzled the dark wizard. Rare it is that the Winds should bother one not of Zeal's royal lineage. He dismissed it for the moment.

Coughing to make a point, the other prophet checked to ensure he had an audience. Then Jarl set his voice to a neutral as he spoke. " _Shattered. Irreclaimable. The lost Prince of Zeal shall encounter his ultimate nemesis. All shall fall to the Red Star's fire. Unveiled, the prince declares his challenge. 'I survived the darkness to defeat you!' his cry of decades-long hatred, sounding in the silence of his own trial, thwarted. The one in violet shall whisk him away, twice the heartbroken child..._ "

"More 'prophecies', prophet?" Magus sneered.

Jarl shrugged his shoulders, noncommittal. "The words of Zephyrain himself. He never lies, nor is he ever inaccurate. Page two hundred and forty-three of Volume ninety-eight, if I remember correctly."

 _And it would be just my luck that some words said by a man dead hundreds of years shall hold the key to my future and that of all of Zeal's._ After tugging on his gloves, one size too large, the necromancer muttered, "I'm suppose to trust everything–everything!–on a deadman's words?"

"Indeed this must seem terribly confusing for you. But can you afford to let pride risk it all?"

That stopped Magus cold. Of course, he couldn't afford to let the lust of the destruction of Lavos to override his common sense. So much depended on his perfect performance. It drained him, the constant delicate balance of deception and being immersed in such a hostile environment. Jarl knew of his most drastic secrets. He would have to observe the other prophet carefully. It was not unheard of oracles manipulating one another for some vile designs.

_You can walk on broken glass but you'd better watch your step, lest the edges bleed you._

In a graceful sweep, Jarl sprung to his feet. His silver eyes narrowed on Magus for the kill. "You simply cannot take the chance, Magus. Do so and she is lost. I should have done something more to ensure my sister's safety." He shook his head in regret. "But I didn't and now we both pay the price. As one brother to another–don't fail her."

In his mind's eye, the image of Alura materialized. The ravaged face and ruined body. The burnt locks of once sun-blonde hair. The stench of smoldering flesh and the coppery tang of blood. Then the vision amended. Now it was Schala upon the cold stones. Her body destroyed. Her hair fell as ashes. The blood, her blood.

_I...I could never survive that loss. If twenty years of separation couldn't rend my sanity surely her death would. At least for those long hard nights I could pretend she'd wake me up in the morning. Now...if she perished..._

So would he.

 _I have no choice. I know the dreaded truth. I must concede to Jarl. To ignore the prophecies could inspire disaster._ Magus struggled with his doubt and fears as Jarl continued to admire the lovely view. His face scrunched and his fists clenched and unclenched.  _I will tell him–I'll listen. Just tell me how she can be saved._ Without visibly reaction, Magus crushed that black thought. Ah, his adversary knew the tender parts of his soul. He would have to tread carefully.

Magus lifted two fingers to his aching temples. He had to think. Read the books, find the relating prophecies and make an educated decision  _then._  The dark wizard's emotions were too raw, his thoughts too erratic to trust his judgment now. "I'll be going. I have many projects to complete before the activation of the Mammon Machine in the Ocean Palace tomorrow." Jarl appeared on the fringe of prompting when Magus cut him off. "I will think about what you have said. Within a few hours I will update you on my decision."

That said, the sorcerer of shadow descended the cliff. As liquid sky, his beautiful hair fluttered from out of his hood. His violet cloak swirled as the necromancer uttered a spidery word and instantly  _Float_  gently set him down to the soft white sand.

The final decision. Destiny better not screw him now.

***

High above his hunched head, the painting of great Zephyrain shimmered with gold candlelight. Night had fallen and Magus' rest came long in waiting. Still, the 'oracle' refused to concede to slumber. For twenty long years he waited for this moment. Something as minor as sleep would hardly even factor into the equation.

Tall stacks of primers lined the walls of the secret basement in the Library of Valor, several of which toppled over. Already three smothered candle stubs lay within the wastebasket. In an immaculate set of bookshelves, it appeared as missing teeth with all the volumes containing prophecy and time fragmentation now strewn across the table and the entire room.

Two gloved hands trembled as Magus scanned a book written by Zephyrain himself. Here, his future already written. Of course, the former prince himself could have easily detailed the history having lived it first-hand but Magus hoped that there remained another destiny for the ill-fated kingdom. 12000 B. C.. In his hands he held the fate of his people. The beginning of the Ice Age and the end of the Age of Dreams. In it, the augury of the Day of Lavos. His day of Lavos at any rate. The day Janus perished and Magus had been born.

Breathing thinly, he flipped open the cover and flicked through the pages. Day five before Lavos appears. Day four. Day three. Day two...Day one...

That breath hitched.

" _Shattered. Irreclaimable. The lost Prince of Zeal shall encounter his ultimate nemesis. All shall fall to the Red Star's fire. Unveiled, the prince declares his challenge. 'I survived the darkness to defeat you!' his cry of decades-long hatred, sounding in the silence of his own trial, thwarted. The one in violet shall whisk him away, twice the heartbroken child..._ "

His fist slammed into the table with enough force to shatter one of the legs. It drove everything upon it onto the ground in an immediate diagonal, downward turn. Damn it all to the Void...So Jarl was telling the truth...He sighed. For once in his life, the illustrious Magus would have to follow, not lead. He hated that. This would be as pleasurable as digesting nails...

Thrusting aside all the frustration the former prince came to his feet, facial features aligning into a deadly resolve. The sorcerer contemplated the journey back to his quarters at the Zeal Palace and finally decided to magically appear within his room. He was ever wary of being exposed. Tomorrow. Tomorrow he could let the bastard Jarl gloat. Magus could delay the other prophet's victory at least until dawn.

A yawn and the words of power fell from his lips. A cone of light encircled the wizard and within moments he stood within his cluttered chambers. He tossed the latest victim of reading onto the untidy nightstand. Tired, the sorcerer stumbled over to his bed. Briefly he thought to remove the cloak. It was not mere clothing after all. It was a magical item.

_No. Sleep now. If I wrinkle it I'll just burn anyone who dares to comment._

Exhaustion came over him as an ocean wave. Sleep came–but not rest.

" _Magus...Oh, Magus..."_

_Two eyelids fluttered open. Light spilled in from the crevices of his eyes. That was most odd. He'd extinguished all forms of light and his room had no window. Shaking his head to clear the milk-white substance that clouded sight, Magus straightened in bed._

_And before him stood Alura._

_His lips twitched to form 'what?' but no sound emerged. Magus reacted, or tried anyway. Even the menial effort of looking about, depleted his strength on a massive scale far more than it should. His head drooped and his hair, as a cerulean curtain, cascaded down a shoulder. "Alura?...You're dead..."_

_She smiled coyly. "My name is Alura."_

" _How...?" His eyebrows rose–as did his guard._

_Without answering, the blonde woman climbed onto the bed. He stiffened, wondering just exactly what Alura had in mind. As cold as glacial water, her hands upon him. One settled on his upraised knee while the other freely roamed his chest._

" _Ah, Magus...I want to...talk to you..."_

_Talk? Hardly, that. More like some bizarre form of seduction. Of course, Magus would have none of that. "Talk? Explain yourself."_

_The woman, donned in the arresting blue dress he'd last seen her in, leaned forward so close he could feel...Nothing? No heat. No fragrance. This bewildered the prophet who expertly schooled his expression into non-expression. None of this made sense. Her words evoked a feeling of repetition. Often enough the dark wizard knew that sensation–he was reliving his past, after all–but this seemed beyond even that out-of-the-norm normality._

" _Have you ever made love before?"_

_As if the current circumstance itself hadn't confused Magus sufficiently. This statement had no relevance to anything. Why would she ask that again? At first, the necromancer supplied no response and Alura seemed to need none to proceed. With delicate fingers, the young woman slid his cloak off two shoulders. It fell soundlessly to the bed._

_This was insane. Alura was dead. He could feel nothing, smell nothing, hear nothing..._

_I am dreaming?_

_As one hand dipped into his collar and sought entrance to his shirt, Magus snatched up that hand. "Enough! What is the meaning of this!?"_

_The index finger of her other hand lifted to gesture at a shadow within the room. As an invisible chain, the dark prince's red-lavender eyes followed to find his dearest sister Schala genuflected. Radiant blue hair breathed in the non-existent wind. Her eyes shut to all of Zeal, she appeared to be praying to higher powers. Like a deflated balloon, Magus' heart constricted to witness her so alive, so unburdened._

_That's how he liked to remember her._

_But such was never to be. A silhouetted figure, carrying_ his  _scythe, advanced on the unsuspecting young woman. Danger! Fear fueled his heart to thrash and yet the sorcerer himself could do nothing, constrained by means beyond his comprehension. The former prince, helpless to save his precious princess as he'd been those many years ago._

_The scythe made no sound as it cleanly sliced Schala in half. His sister simply slumped over to her side without a word. Her mysterious killer said nothing. Neither did Alura._

_Even Magus' own scream could not be heard._

_Horrified, Magus stared, transfixed with a stain of crimson coming over his vision. Still, the unseen hand paralyzed him. Desperate, he looked to Alura, demanding an answer. She seemed not forthcoming. Alura departed from the bed and strolled over to the slain Schala. "I think there's something wrong with Jarl."_

_To that, the dark wizard glanced back over to the assassin. He was wearing Magus' own Cloak of Concealment! Two hands of the killer lifted up to lower the hood–!_

_Jarl..._

_Dear Reaper, let this be a horrible nightmare!_

_Then Magus regained composure. Of course this was a dream. Dead people don't start walking around. He chuckled darkly...but could this be some grim forewarning of Schala's fate? Jarl had thus far given him no indication of being a cold-blooded murder. That imagination working overtime again, perhaps?_

_As if all the energy deserted his limbs, the former Zealian still could not perform even the simplest of tasks. His sagging eyelids threatened to collapse altogether despite the dire nature of the situation. "What...what are...you...telling...me?"_

_Her gaze returned to him. Those soulless eyes chilled his soul. "I'm afraid."_

_Yet he was not afraid. A message, then._

" _Describe to me what you are feeling."_

_Magus blinked–both from exhaustion and confusion. "What?"_

"  _You can't look me in the eye and claim to be lifeless!"_

_I am dreaming!_

" _Someday you will feel, prophet."_

_At the realization that, indeed, he ventured the plains of the sleepers, wakefulness forced itself upon the weary sorcerer. Shaking his head, Magus fought the drowning light but its progression could not be denied. As a person denies death, so too, did he fail. Critical he knew, absolutely critical that he remain in this dream world. Learn more. Much more._

_Alura smiled at his frustration. "I guess I really must be going."_

_No. Wait. Schala...tell me what becomes of her!_

_His connection to the dream world almost severed, Alura bent down to touch the gap in Schala's stomach. No blood. A milky veil nearly engulfed Magus' vision as his consciousness reasserted itself. In the background, soft whispering sounds could be heard...the sound of rustling cloth, of an unleashed weapon, of the approach..._

" _Aren't you forgetting something?"_

_The sight cleared just long enough for Magus to see Jarl coming closer, scythe in hand._

_Coming closer–to him._

" _Wait!" came the dark wizard's cry. "What about..."_

"...Schala!"

That double syllable name reverberated in the still darkness as a pebble to a pond. Consciousness crashing into him, the former Mystic leader sat up abruptly. He panted deeply, though he could scarcely believe it originated from his mental stress–how could his mind affect his physical? Yet the intensity made his heart hammer as if to burst from his ribs and sweat streaked his temples.

_So that's how it's like to see her die._

He could never live like that.

But, if he should fail, the great Magus would have to.

In his confused state, the wizard forgot to employ his magic for sight. His hand flailed about to light a candle. He knocked over several books from the nightstand of which Magus paid no heed. At last, a tiny silver candle blazed with a golden glow. Feeble light cast around the room. In the corner, where Schala had lain, dead, was a pile of upturned books. A few feet away the scythe leaned against the blue-gray wall. Suffering from hallucinations was not uncommon for the sorcerer–he could easily have half-dreamt, half-imagined the whole gruesome episode of Schala's death.

Resorting to his barrier, the former prince quieted his breathing. He swept aside the deep navy hair and lay back down. Of course, a dream. Or a hallucination, maybe. Alura was dead. Schala was _not_ dead. Jarl might be manipulator but hardly a murderer...

Besides, the cloak he'd stolen rested on...

...his...

..shoulders–No...

Magus bolted upright again, searching for the Cloak of Concealment. Gone. Not a trace. Leaving the bed, he again looked around. Not on his nightstand. Not on the messy floor. It should be on his person. It was until he'd fallen asleep. Until he'd dreamt...

 _Whether or not I've misplaced it or it is theft is not the issue. At this very moment Schala could be in danger._ Snapping to a decision, Magus exercised some magical spells he hadn't in many long months. Among his arcane arsenal, an invisibility-float hybrid soon had him echoing a soft blue and off a few inches from the gray-black tiles.

As a prodigy, the wizard engaged in magical-merging. He'd combined several effect spells to produce a double-benefit enchantment. Flying-invisibility ranked among the elite of his favorite self-created spells. With the aid of his cloak, however, some time had past since last the sorcerer tested its viability. Of course, there existed no way for him to know it wasn't working until too late, until he'd been discovered. _Dear Reaper, let it not fail me now._

Abandoning his small quarters, the wizard traversed the myriad hallways of the Zeal Palace. As it was late night, he encountered only a limited number of Enlightened roaming the antechambers. Two Enlightened sat at a silver-trimmed table whispering about the Ocean Palace. They did not notice his proximity, as the self-professed prophet virtually floated past. Indeed, the spell had worked.

He did not bother trying to steal some clothing. Only the Cloak of Concealment would hide his royal heritage, his possession of the Zealian magic. Magus swept down some marble steps and glided over gold-plated 'healing' floor designs. Without the cloak, the necromancer must keep the magic invested in his spell. Any drop in concentration might end the enchantment. He could keep it going. But for how long? Not forever, by no means...

Once Magus crossed the right wing of the palace, the sounds of footsteps made him curse. Normally, he couldn't care less about any Enlightened. If the spell worked against one, it should work against another. However, those voices belonged to no ordinary dreamer of Zeal. In his midst walked the Advisor and the Queen herself.

His breath halted, the sorcerer flattened to a wall.

"Dalton! Can you believe it?"

"What your esteemed Majesty–your amazing intellect or your stunning beauty?"

His mother seemed annoyed. "Yes, well, of course, you idiot." Her hands flourished with a shimmer of golds and reds and blues. "But I mean the completion of the Ocean Palace. A few more hours and we shall be immortal."

Magus winced. His stomach shrunk. Lavos was near.

"Yes! Yes! I can feel it! I can!"

So could the wizard, for he found himself being rubbed by a very enthusiastic cat. Magus swore again softly. If either his mother or her overly dressed lap dog should notice the cat 'rubbing air' they might opt to investigate. Sheer disaster. Kicking Alfador away did not work before and was not likely to work now. _Make the best of it, Magus. Like you always do._

Much to Magus' dismay, the Queen walked closer to his form. Dalton stayed in the background observing the Zealian's highest authority with eager eyes. That made the dark wizard frown. The thought of his mother and the prissy made Magus violently ill. Yet the signs obviously told of a story the former prince wanted not told. He hated Dalton. And he hated his mother. But the two of them, together...

Now was hardly the time for getting ill, however.

"By tomorrow, I will summon Schala to activate the Mammon Machine," she was saying, cheeks flushed with the glow of imminent victory. "She'll–"

"Probably resist," Dalton pointed out, while flipping back his outrageous hair.

Queen Zeal smiled. It was of a natal evil. "Then you must bring her to me–by force, if necessary."

"And? Can I?"

"No. She is not to be harmed. You will bring her safely to me." Zeal's sharp eyes forestalled any protests. "She is my daughter."

How can someone so pure of heart be conceived of such wickedness? It seemed to defy logic. Magus realized a most shocking emotion coursing his veins–envy. Mother had always loved Schala far more than him. Schala was the wanted child; the cherished child. Janus had been the product of Zeal's illicit indiscretion with a passerby she took a fancy to. He'd not been wanted. A tolerated pariah at best.

Alfador meowed, seeming to sense his master's negative aura. In astonishment, both Queen and Advisor glanced over to the lone purple cat prowling the hall. Magus continued to hold his breath. Should they decide to cast a detect-magic spell the game was over for him. Alfador meowed once more and stretched against the wizard.

"It's–It's that stupid cat again! Shoo, you flea-bag." Alfador refused to be moved, not taking kindly to his mother's waving hands. The Queen snarled. "I don't know why I haven't gotten rid of the miserable thing long ago."

Seeing an opening for her favor, Dalton dove in. "I can always dump it into the waterfall. It's late. No one would know what happened." He stepped forward as if to do just that.

A predicament. Dalton appeared very likely to carry out his threat. A cat is a cat. Still, to an eight-year old who knew no friends, Alfador had been his only companionship. Janus would discover his precious pet dead. He'd be heartbroken. But the former prince couldn't exactly risk his cover for a mere feline. No matter the emotional attachment, Magus must keep quiet.

Mercifully for both wizard and his cat, Queen Zeal seemed too preoccupied to bother with such insignificance. "Later. We have more important things to discuss. If all goes well we can dump the boy in along with it."

Hate burning in his eyes, yet the sorcerer dared not retaliate.

As the rainbow Queen and her Advisor departed down the hall, the former prince could afford to relax his position. So much deception, such a fragile line of duplicity. His entire body had gone rigid. Now, to continue onto his mission. Uncover Jarl's intents and perhaps rescue his sister. His shadow did not fall upon the marble tiles of the indigo and crimson as that, too, remained hidden by the spell. His enchantment disguised all sight but not sound. Fortunately, the combined spell of levitate prevented any footstep noise. The Magus had been thorough.

Gliding over another set of marble stairs and navigating a large and beautiful multi-faceted antechamber, he arrived at the destined coordinates–Schala's room. The so-called prophet dared not enter visible, for should she catch him, Magus' identity might be unveiled. He was not ready for that. Neither was she. He needed time to soften the blow; to make it easier for his kind-hearted sister to accept the bloodstained Prince of Darkness.

Shock lightninged his systems, when the dark wizard detected the presence of Jarl. It required all of Magus' self-containment to not lose concentration and foul up the spell. Jarl? Here, at his sister's quarters so late at night? Jarl seemed to not even sense anything unusual, foregoing any arcane-inspecting. His knuckles rapped twice upon the door.

Schala appeared, radiant as ever, dressed only in a rose-colored nightrobe. Her sleep-squinted eyes expanded at seeing the violet-robed diviner there. She whispered, "Prophet? Magus?"

The real Magus flinched. Like every cruel slap his mother gave him, the sorcerer realized the height of Jarl's deception.  _That bastard! The Cloak! He stole it! He is parading around as me in my own clothing. The Idiot. I'll roast him alive for the damn audacity!_

Then the door shut.


	8. True Lies

_Ah, the power of the lie. The power of deception and manipulation. Always I have been the victim of such things. Damn. Idiots. He thinks to betray me, to use the love my sister against me...Ah, but he shall see...Beware the Reaper, for if you cross him your life ends here..._

_What in the Void is happening in there?_

Magus' mind swirled with endless and frightening possibilities. What did Jarl hope to accomplish by impersonating him? Nothing good, he knew. Earlier he bent to the other prophet's will for fear of tipping the delicate balance. Now, as he faced the bedroom door the evidence that foul play was afoot came clearly to the mystic magician.

Again, the dark wizard made use of the peephole. He didn't trust Jarl—not any longer, anyway. Normally, Magus would just wink into existence and tear the door of its hinges to apprehend the thief. At this moment, however, Magus feared Jarl's intentions and, being far too concerned for Schala's safety for his usual abruptness, reigned in his bloodlust for the opportune time.

Look. Listen. Learn. Then act. Ozzie's first few lessons and quite handy.

Inside the ornate room, Schala paced by the gold-rimmed window, shattering the moonlight with each step. Jarl stood dead center in the chamber flourishing Magus' Cloak of Concealment. His soft words consoled the distressed Princess of Zeal. His voice, as soft as silk upon skin, yet underneath a current of danger, a hint of vile eagerness...

As she swirled around to address the other prophet, Schala's azure hair fluttered as a Time Gate in shift. Extending her hands, she asked, "What kind of daughter would want her own mother done away with? I mean I know she's hurt me..." One hand came up to her ruby-red cheek. "...Oh, dear, do you think she'd hurt Janus? I can't let her do that!" Crystal teardrops shined in her eyes.

Jarl shook his head, as if in sorrow and pulled the young woman into his arms. As an irate Magus observed, the black-haired wizard caressed her beautiful hair. "Yes. I'm afraid Janus is in grave danger."

Schala's head snapped up as Jarl smiled sadly down on her. "Do you see it, prophet?"

"I see a great many things. One of which is our destruction should the Queen summon Lavos."

"So you've changed your mind, then?" Schala stepped back to view the violet-robed prophet at length. Hope now gleamed in those ocean-blue depths such as even an ice-hearted Magus must melt. "You'll...help me?"

 _Kill my mother? Granted she probably deserves it...but why would Jarl care?_ Magus took in a deep breath, realization dawning.  _Damn you, Jarl, this is some plan to frame me, is it? Even if you don't succeed the attempt alone would have me executed should 'you' be caught._

From the shadow of the cowl, the former prince could see nothing of Jarl's expression. Yet Magus could sense an evil lurking there. "Yes—" came the black-haired prophet's answer. However, the rest vanished beneath a flurry of robes as Schala graciously embraced him.  _Am I truly any better than Jarl? Her brother parading around in her presence as another man?_

Immediately, the dark wizard told himself to focus. Hiding from Schala was essential to his quest. As well, he could easily imagine the shock his poor sister would suffer if the sorcerer revealed himself. No, far better to destroy Lavos and  _then_ work on the relationship.

Ever so gently, Jarl pushed the Zealian royalty away from him. His hands lifted up to stream her ice-and-water locks. Confusion filled her eyes. "Not so fast. If there was  _but one small thing_  you would so kindly do for me..." His silky voice trailed off as if an affirmative answer was imminently forthcoming.

And it was. Schala's determination to protect her little brother knew no cost too high. "Of course. I'm willing to compensate you for your efforts. Anything," she said, by way of reflect.

Smiling, Jarl half-turned to the bed, his hand sweeping out in a grand gesture. At first, Magus didn't understand but when he did a compulsion for homicide such as he'd not felt since Cyrus' murder erupted in his chest. Only a long ingrained stealth from childhood kept him still. It made Magus sick inside to see Jarl's smirk but he contained his anger in the interests of learning more.

Two beautiful eyes flicked over to the gold bedspread. "What...?" she whispered, clearly not comprehending, or perhaps, not wanting to.

"Sleep with me."

He spoke as if of the weather, the tone was that innocent...but the smile that accompanied it certainly wasn't. His request shocked Schala. She, ever the innocent one. Intelligent people think everyone is also as gifted and rich people naturally assume everyone is as wealthy. Schala was a virtuous girl and was always stunned to find the world less than pure. Of course, with Mother, the princess should have realized not the entire world was perfect...

Far from it.

At that moment, she scurried back from Jarl, very much afraid of him, unfortunately about to get a taste of what true evil was. With tentative steps she dodged his outstretched arm, violet robes sweeping the floor in her haste. Jarl seemed amused. He advanced upon her but halted when the princess raised two hands.

"To think Magus, I trusted you. I now see my folly—that you are a fraud. Leave immediately. Leave the Kingdom of Zeal, do not return, and I will speak of this to no one."

But Jarl would not be so easily thwarted. Aggressively, the black-haired sorcerer stepped forward, forcing the young woman into a bookcase. A few tomes, of magic manipulation, fell to the floor. Their noise sounded as shattering glass in the stillness of the night. He thrust a hand on Schala's cheek and she flinched from the invading touch.

"I'm lonely. Alura is dead."

Schala's jaw sank. "She's your sister!"

A sharp bark of laughter emerged from Jarl's throat. "Oh, Schala, what does it matter? So are you..."

By custom, Magus would have Jarl splattered on the marble floor. The other prophet had deceived his mother, manipulated him, and now attempted rape upon his most beloved sister, in his own image! However, the pre-casting for Dark Matter fell back into his mouth when those words reached his sword-tip ears.

 _Sister? Alura? Schala?_  The shock cemented him to spot, limbs paralyzed.

"Come on, Schala! I haven't got all night!"

In desperation, the Zealian princess ducked Jarl's arms and turned to run out the door. He cut off her escape route and hauled her to the ground. Schala fought back, resorting to biting his fingers as they probed her long skirt. Unwillingly, he released the young woman who proceeded to fill her lungs with air to scream. Before she could blow his cover, though, Jarl whacked her on the head. Schala flopped over as a dropped stone.

"Finally!" the false prophet shouted, his hands springing at her.

A flash of azure light burned Magus' eyes, just as he was about to interfere. He blinked to clear his vision. When it returned, Schala was on her feet, spinning around to strike her assailant with the pendant. But the princess was hardly a warrior. The black-haired wizard snatched it from her hand and cast it to the blue-black tiles. It landed with a sharp clang.

Again, the princess pivoted to evade as Jarl began chanting rapidly. Magus noted the music of magic, that of a high-level sleep spell. Being of Zealian blood, Schala had a meager resistance to the incantation. But Jarl invested more power in the casting and when Magus' sister collapsed this time she did not rise.

Jarl's silver eyes darted with a demented light. Quickly, he gathered the comatose princess in his arms and carried her to the bed. The pale moonlight shined in his silver eyes like twin daggers ready to draw blood. Relishingly, he gripped her breasts and kissed her forehead in an almost lover-like fashion.

That simple act of perverted affection jostled the blue-haired prophet back to reality. Like a hell-beast unleashed, Magus severed the invisibility spell, flung open the door and charged in. It wasn't until then that the so-called prophet remembered his furry companion.

Astonishingly, it was Alfador who reached Jarl first, growling as he'd never before. Pouncing on the other prophet's face, the claws slashed Jarl's face, drawing blood. With a cry, he staggered, swiping his arm at the furious feline. His efforts could not match Alfador's resolve to defend Schala.

Seeing his sister, Magus ignored the flailing arms and dove for her. Grasping her wrists, he half-dragged, half-carried the unconscious woman toward the door. A step form the exit, Magus stumbled over her lavender robe. Both crashed on the marble flooring, resulting in disorientation for the former prince.

Unfortunately, Jarl freed himself from the savage Alfador by hurling the cat at the far wall. Whipping his arms in half-circles, a movement reminiscent of Magus himself, the black-haired wizard launched a dome of pure ebony energy at his rising opponent. The pain itself knocked the dark wizard back to his knees, clutching at his chest. Had he time, Magus might have pondered the use of his own magic. However, he had none as Jarl materialized a scythe. That could not be good.

Gripping Schala's pendant in a hand, Magus felt the cool metal seep through his systems, rejuvenating his strength. Despite the good fortune confusing him, the dark wizard didn't bother with that, having more pressing matters. As Jarl set about to cleave him asunder, Magus held out the pendant in an effort to protect himself. In a flash, he and Schala vanished to reappear against the opposing wall. Magus dropped the glowing medallion in shock.

The time to strike was now. Kill. Kill now. More of Ozzie's lessons and of equal, or surpassing, significance.

Barking the command word, Magus summoned his own scythe, a large obsidian instrument of death. Using the flat of the blade, he bashed Jarl on the head. Amazingly, his adversary did not lose consciousness though he did crumple to the tiles. With swiftness, the sorcerer held the weapon at battle-ready. Should Jarl chose to sit up a sizable hole would form in his chest.

"You know, that was quite unnecessary," the prone figure muttered, acting hurt. "We could have shared her."

That remark made the color flee Magus' lips, pale in anger. Glancing over a shoulder, he could see Schala lying motionless. "You are one sick twisted bastard, you know that?" Magus said coldly as he turned back around, eyes blazing like the coals of the Void. "Return to me that which is mine!"

Although it appeared that Jarl might bolt, he seemed to think better of it. With an ill grace, the other prophet slowly removed the cloak. His fingers played around the ebony clasp, a crest of the Zealian Royalty, in a teasing manner. The flaring of Magus' nostrils prompted him to hurry on. As the cloth left Jarl, the enchantment subsequently vanished and his true image reasserted itself. Magus watched carefully for his opponent's next move.

A flurry of lavender cloth came at Magus who, an expert at dodging in combat, spun about face to evade the distracting maneuver. Then he grabbed the cloak and flung it on. It swirled as the billowing of a violet flag to rest again upon his shoulders. Flipping up the hood, Magus lifted his scythe, intent on doing some serious damage to Schala's assailant.

And found himself pelted with various objects of the room. A candlestick barely missed his shoulder while several of its complementary candles connected with his leg. Cursing, the sorcerer whirled to find his attacker. Shock blasted down his spine at what he saw.

Schala, now recovered, hurled a number of accessories at him. A gold hairpin, followed by two books, forced the sorcerer to duck beside the lavish bed. "Schala, damn you! What in the Void are you doing?" he shrieked. Meanwhile, Jarl hovered, his eyes darting over to his discarded scythe glittering on the marble floor.

"Why would you hurt me, Magus? I have done nothing to hurt you!" came Schala's half-sob, half-shout.

Several seconds passed before the former prince realized her cries were concerning Jarl's aborted assault. When he looked own and noted how very much he emulated the black-haired wizard's momentary look a groan escaped Magus' lips. But, of course, now that the Cloak of Concealment lay on his shoulder, so too lay the guilt. Jarl's crimes became his. Once again, that bastard tricked him!

And in the very pit of Magus' dark imagination, he dreamt she spoke those words to him in hate at a brother who'd left her.

At that moment, Alfador yowled. He leapt on Jarl again, who, having reclaimed the scythe, had been about to pierce Magus' chest. Kicking the violet feline quite harshly, Jarl turned and fled through the entryway. Eyes scintillating as a stormy sky, Magus heaved his scythe and set to pursue when Schala grabbed his cloak to renew the struggle.

"If you don't leave us both alone, I'll scream for the guards!" she cried.

Dodging her grasp with ease, the dark wizard snatched up her wrists and forced Schala against the wall. She squirmed in his grip, though in vain. Having come from an atmosphere of violence, Magus had learned how to subdue his enemies.

But this was not his enemy—this was his sister!

Magus' hand came down to silence her when her lips opened to scream. That made her eyes widen. Perhaps she feared he might continue what Jarl started. The sorcerer grimaced. "One word out of you and Janus will be dust. Poof!"

Should the Princess of Zeal bring the matter of "his" attempted assault to the attention of the authorities, namely their mother, the show's curtains would fall. Several hours yet remained before his duel with Lavos. Whatever the price, he must keep her silent. Since killing her was clearly not an option, though the dark prince had employed that tactic many times before, threatening the life of Janus would suffice. A form of self-hostage he noted with bitter irony.

She nodded her head, prompting a wave of relief in her brother. Magus released his sister and she slumped to marble flooring in tears. She was crying. Dear Reaper, he'd made his sister cry—the one thing, out of all the hideous crimes he'd committed, Magus swore he'd never do. Forcing his barrier up to mask his pained thoughts, the dark wizard whipped out his scythe and headed after Jarl.

Darting past the elaborate hallway and a domed antechamber, the shadow sorcerer spotted a black-haired man in the midst of magical transport. His arms lifted up to embrace the column of multi-spectrum light that immediately engulfed him. In a blink, Jarl vanished.

"Oh, no, you don't!" snarled the shadow sorcerer. Whirling his arms in counter-clockwise semi-circles, he clutched the amulet Schala had bequeathed him as a child. A similar shroud of light coiled Magus and within moments he, too, was gone.

Analyzing his rival's coordinates, the dark wizard reappeared a few feet from the beautiful waterfall of Zeal. Jarl leaned against the silver railing, panting as he looked about for escape. In the backdrop Magus could hear the rush of the water and see the spray left behind on the glass walkway. At last, revenge upon this bastard—revenge and a rage too long withheld.

A swipe of the scythe, and Magus leapt at his adversary. The two weapons clashed violently with sparks and a clang loud enough to shatter glass. Ordinary glass, anyway. Fortunately for the two combatants, their walkway had been reinforced with steel. Magus attacked viciously and made several successive thrusts only to be blocked by a tiring Jarl.

After barely sidestepping a downward cut, Jarl cried, "What are you trying to do? Get us both killed?"

"No—" Thrust to the left. Dodged "—just—" Another slash, coming from the right. Also evaded. "—you!" That last was uttered as Magus made a second brutal downward cut. This Jarl deflected as the two scythes connected sending sparks sailing in the mist.

"We're the same person, you idiot!" the black-haired prophet snarled as he returned a forward strike to no effect.

A bemused expression wrote across Magus' face. "I'm you, now is it? Damn it, you have totally lost your mind!" With that, the mystic magician whirled his unoccupied hand and two man-sized ice chunks crashed into Jarl. It was ineffectual, however, as the other prophet erected a forcefield. Then Jarl returned the favor in kind, resulting in a similar failure to an identical wall of magical protection.

"We are as one!"

"I am my own man—I am no one else!"

Gasping, Jarl hoarsely countered, "It's in the books..."

Magus carried the match to his opponent in a series of feints and consecutive slashes. Nothing scored flesh. After another fruitless cast of magic, this time of flames, he snapped as the water evaporated in the mists. "The books lie!"

Lifting a hand, the silver-eyed wizard held his scythe stiffly at ready, as if unleashing a powerful spell. Magus backed off, fearing exactly that. Still, his fire-and-violet eyes cemented to those of his rival's. He didn't believe a word of Jarl's nonsense but if he elected to humor the crazy, would-be prophet it might lead to a fatal distraction...

Fatal, of course, for Jarl.

Taking a breath, Jarl muttered, "Not that book—Ugh, I mean, no book. None at all." He immediately grimaced and Magus realized he'd let something slip...

_The books...They do lie? The books lie? The prophecy...A lie?_

_Lost and irreplaceable._ Maybe not. The shock unhinged the wizard's jaw so much so he could sallow Alfador. A rising wave of joy passed through him, drying his mouth and prompting trembles in his hands. He could scent the fear from Jarl; the fear of a thief and a liar caught red-handed. The books had been tempered with. His rival had seen a weakness and had exploited it.

Magus pinched his nose with his finger and thumb. Of course, he'd been a fool. A childhood fear, a childhood weakness. He'd feared for Schala's safety so much, the dark wizard had fallen prey to Jarl's lies. He'd feared it so badly, Magus nearly brought such destruction come to pass. Like walking on broken glass blind with only Jarl's hand as a hope to salvation. And like a blind man, he trusted the only hope he had.

_Calm yourself, Magus. Certainly the knowledge of its falsehood is good news but no guarantee that Lavos will be easy to defeat._

As soon as the dark wizard glanced up, his opponent had fled. In the distance was Jarl's receding form, heading straight for the Valor Library. Magus's eyes flashed and a sickening feeling in his gut told him Jarl's intents for the books were hardly benign.

"No! Jarl! Don't!" came Magus' disjointed cry as he took off after the black-robed wizard. Several Enlightened, enjoying a pleasant walk on the pristine boulevard of Zeal, had to dart aside to avoid both prophets. Briefly, the former prince considered a teleportation spell then declined, realizing the pre-spell casting alone would be long enough for Jarl to perform his ill-minded deed.

"Stop, Jarl, don't make me kill you!"

"You'd be killing yourself in the process!"

"Damn it, shut up with the identity crisis, will you!"

Outside the library, in its garden, Magus grabbed his opponent's flailing cloak and yanked hard. The two collapsed in a heap at the golden doors, grappling and struggling. With a shriek of pain Magus retreated as Jarl hit him in the eyes with a feeble fire spell. Magus struck out with a skull-adorned scythe but the arc went wild and instead imbedded itself in a nearby tree. While the mystic sorcerer removed it, Jarl seized the opportunity to slip inside.

Inside. Chaos. Books flew everywhere. Jarl searched for the secret passageway into the library crypt—the room with the books he'd tampered with and would now demolish to cover his trail. The Enlightened ones screamed at him to cease his wholesale slaughter of Zeal's vast shelves of manuscripts. Some went to the length of counteracting the flame spells. At this point in desperation the black-robed oracle made no distinction between the real and the fake. If anything, he would ruin Magus' chance to read the truth, even if that meant sending the entire library up in flames.

Magus shoved a squealing Enlightened aside as he dove onto a gold-engraved table. He propelled himself from it and landed on Jarl. With a book in hand, one of which he'd been about to incinerate, the other prophet rammed it Magus' throat. Gagging, the shadow sorcerer leaned against a table to catch his breath.

Meanwhile, his rival flung the book to the floor and armed himself with his scythe. As the blade came down, the mystic sorcerer twisted to his right to avoid being impaled. It cleanly cleaved the table in two, sending a slew of tomes into the air, several of which knocked a few of the room's occupants out. Magus jumped over a pile of books to snatch up his own scythe and whipped around to deliver a sideways slash. But Jarl was not where Magus supposed him to be and the blade drove a bookcase crashing to the floor, obscuring his view.

When he cleared the bookcase, of course, Jarl was nowhere to be found.

Frustrated, Magus sighed and glanced around at the traumatized, gawking Enlightened. "What are you looking at? Haven't you seen two men trying to kill each other before?"

Immediately, three Enlightened women screeched and a fourth fainted at his feet. With disgust, the dark wizard sprang past the body and followed Jarl. In his haste, Magus almost tumbled down the stairs. His hand flung out as if independent from his form to grip the railing and he forced himself to take them one at a time. The sorcerer's sharp eyes cast around for the fleeing traitor.

A child's scream, his own, alerted Magus to the gravity of the situation. Jarl was in the room with Janus! Magus plunged ahead and nearly tore off the door in an effort to reach his younger self. Inside, Janus huddled against a wall holding a book aloft as if to ward off a blow. Jarl loomed before him with a scythe about to rip his young body apart.

"Jarl, stop!"

He did so, glancing over a cloaked shoulder.

"Prophet Magus," Janus sniveled, eyes wide. "Save me! I'm your prince!"

His older self frowned. "What have you done?"

"I was doing nothing wrong, honest! I'm a prince—I should be able to look at some dumb old books. This one," he gestured at the one in his hand, "is all wrong. The pages are upside down and the paragraphs don't match from page to page. I think its been all messed up."

As Jarl read Magus' rapidly heating expression, he rushed in to do damage control. "That's a lie! He's just a kid! He doesn't know anything. The books tell the truth."

"A  _twisted_  truth you want me to believe." Magus watched Jarl carefully but from his rival's gritted teeth he knew the other prophet would not release Janus easily. "If you kill Janus you'll be destroying us both, isn't that true?"

Relief danced in those silver eyes. "So you believe me, then?"

Magus would sooner believe in Ozzie losing weight or Alfador sprouting wings. Still, he wisely opted not to indicate that, however, as Jarl's scythe would probably reach his younger self before a physical barrier could.  _I'll humor him, stall, and play for time. Give Janus an opening in which to get away._

When his eyes flickered to meet Janus', though, the prince was too terrified to notice. Magus sighed, "I'm willing to listen with an open mind. Let the boy go."

That must have been the first time Janus didn't bristle at being addressed so informally.

"I don't think so. Your attention span might vanish with him. Talk first."

The mystic sorcerer restrained his temper. "Alright then. Talk. Fast."

"Don't you think it odd that we seem so much alike? We both have sisters, we both practice sorcerery and augury, we're both shadow magicians, our speech patterns and habits are strangely similar...How can that be coincidence?"

Magus didn't answer, his eyes locked on his former self.

Jarl noted the gaze and smiled sadly. "Simply, it's not. When I, and you, fell into the Time Gate the Black Wind howled. Remember that?"

Though he did, the mystic sorcerer refused to deny or concede the point.

"I remember. It felt as a vacuum sucking in my life from a thousand directions. At one point the soul disengaged from...Janus' body. Our particles scattered but did not return to one. Instead, the portal pulled half of Janus' molecules into a different time period."

600 A.D. The narration revived awful memories from long ago. The horrendous pain of the Time Gate, the dissection of his entire body into miniscule fragments, the horror of landing in Ozzie's arms.

"Me?"

"Yes. The other half merged with the Black Wind and transported to the Void. Once whole, or half-whole anyway, that side of Janus lived in the Void, ultimately meeting his father and half-sister."

"You?'

"Ah, so you do understand!" Jarl cried, ecstatically. "Yes, we are not just one person but two separate halves. If we work together we can bring down the tyranny of Zeal."

From behind Jarl, Magus could see Janus' mouth working in shock as he contemplated the destruction of his homeland.  _Trust me, it isn't worth all that much. Sometimes I wonder why I go to such lengths to preserve the wasteland of humanity. Still, if Schala needs a home, anything's worth salvaging._ Dismissing that train of thought, Magus asked, "If we truly are one person then why were you after Schala? She's our sister!"

A sly smile crossed Jarl's lips. "Oh, come now, Magus. There's always time for a little bit of fun."

Magus' eyes flashed—he felt violently ill. He pronounced each word with excruciating slowness. "You  _really_ are one sick twisted bastard..." The next sentence came out in a torrent. "Idiot! I am nothing like you! That is proof we are not 'as one'."

 _Lies. It all had to be lies. The thought of his sister...No. He wasn't anything remotely like that!_  It was more deception, crafted to cover up more lies underneath. A pile of fraud so high, Magus couldn't see over to the side of truth. A deadly smile shined in his eyes.  _Beware the Reaper, for if you cross him your life ends here._ He lifted the Doom scythe quietly and donned the persona of the Reaper.

Jarl didn't seem to notice the change in his audience's mood. "So, what do you say? It's not healthy to argue with oneself."

"I'm not. All of me agrees with killing you." With that, Magus swung the scythe with one hand and conjured up a deflection spell in front of Janus with the other. No sooner did it come up than Jarl's scythe came down. The negativity shock thrust Jarl against a bookcase. It also meant, unfortunately, that Magus' attack missed.

Thrown off balance by the aborted swing, the mystic sorcerer had to recover. In that time, his rival chased after the young prince, who'd, after seeing the blade descend, immediately fled. Cursing, Magus hotly pursued. "Jarl, stop, you damn fool!" He decided to spit the man's own 'logic' back at him. "If your theory is correct, Janus' death will be ours as well."

When the dark wizard reached outside, the remnants of magic-transport sparkles settled to the floor. He had no time to waste. This time, when he connected his coordinates to that of Jarl's, the magic deposited him on one of the many balconies of Zeal. With a gasp Magus dropped to a knee, the transport disorientation overwhelming him momentarily. Rush magic and it bites you back. He recognized the landing as the same one he'd gazed out of when the whole bizarre mission begun. The sorcerer's eyes lifted to see Jarl and Janus.

The former suspended the latter over the gold railing in a daunting tease. "Help me!" screamed the frightened young prince who clung to the wizard's arm. He simply refused to be released, knowing death awaited him in the arctic waters of the Terran Ocean. Meanwhile Jarl seemed to enjoy terrorizing his victim, the screams fueling his cruelty.

The blue-haired wizard didn't know for certain that the death of his younger self would affect him at all. Time fragmentation indicated otherwise. Still, this was one of those times in which a 'test' wouldn't suffice. The test alone could be real enough to kill him. Slowly, sensing his rival's eyes upon him, the mystic sorcerer came to his feet.

"Just don't let go, Janus," Magus instructed the young prince. To Jarl he said, "Alright, you made your point. I believe you. Release Janus and let us discuss this like two grown men."

Mischief gleamed in the silver eyes of the other prophet. "Release him? Certainly!"

"That's not what I meant!" Magus cried, horrified, as he stepped forward. "No, don't!"

Slowly the fingers recoiled, one by one...

_...I'm going to die..._

Janus' mouth opened in a screech...

_...No, not me, Janus..._

Magus cast a levitate spell swiftly...

_...No, both of us will..._

Mercifully the prince's descent halted.

Expending such energies drained the sorcerer and he was unable to repel Jarl's preemptive arcane assault. A wave of shadow mist slammed the former prince against the wall, gasping while he struggled to keep his younger self afloat. Magus was an expert at enduring pain...he'd done so for decades...

And only a Magus could deflect a spell at the same instant as sustaining one.

If Jarl had been present the mess would have emptied even the staunchest stomach. Whipping his hands in rapid circles, the silver-eyed prophet initiated a transport spell seconds before contact with the inverted magic. Curses came to Magus' pale lips but he couldn't give into them just now. Straining to his limits after the violent wizardry unleashed against him, the mystic sorcerer elevated Janus over the railing and onto the balcony floor. As soon as he hit ground, the young prince crumpled, white as death.

Quickly, Magus appraised him. "You'll be fine. Go back to your room and stay there." Without looking back or waiting for a reply, Magus took off in a spell.

The hunt was on.


	9. The Prophet's War

_Ah, Jarl, at long last...Our 'alliance' is over—and it brings not a tear to my eye. Your treachery ends here...No longer shall I suffer your deception, your manipulation. You used my own fear against me, twisted the truth to your own needs. Ah, but eyes open, blade in hand. Give me your best shot—if you're prepared for the Void!_

The Void. A limitless hole formed of spatial distortions and the disorientation of awry magical consumption. A realm of negative and positive energy that cause rifts in the space-time continuum. A legend among Mystics and Guardian humans, Enlightened and Earthbound. Mystics called it by its name—an evil sunny realm for all of the humans who would strive against the might of their Lord Magus. The Guardian humans referred to it as the Abyss—a timeless vortex that sucks the living from the dead to utter non-existence. Enlightened often titled it as Ghenna—the waiting period for those foolish enough to try their hand against the god Lavos. Lastly the Earthbound, with their limited access to such philosophical information, merely named it the Black Hole—big ugly place where the bad people go.

Whatever it was, Jarl was heading straight for it.

Magus whipped about the myriad silver hallways of Kajar, his lavender cloak billowing behind like a great violent curtain such was his speed. Several colorfully dressed Enlightened commented on his lack of courtesy as he passed them by with nary a glance. One even mentioned his aura told the story of his heart—an aura of aversion.

Of course, the shadow sorcerer didn't give a damn about auras or whatever nonsense they conjured. A mere two hours before the doom of living—his Day of Lavos. Still, Magus couldn't proceed with his plan until Jarl had been vanquished. As lightning he could descend upon the Ocean Palace in just the crucial moment.

"Idiot!" muttered the dark wizard. "Imagine, he thought to use me, Me! Magus!" In recess of his mind, Magus witnessed the retribution for the betrayal in the form of Jarl—burned at the stake, struck by three bolts of gold lightning, or maybe just sucked up in the Obsidian Sphere of Oblivion. "Play with fire and you get burned," came his whisper, soft and lethal.

In such a state of pre-murder fury, Magus didn't even notice Schala almost until they collided. His eyes had stained crimson but instantly dissolved at the sight of her. Her face was more careworn than usual. Once his sister had been lively and thoughtful. Thoughtful she was yet; no longer lively. Worry creased her brow, her arms folded in front of her.

Janus hovered by his sister's leg, eyes wide with a mixture of fear and disgust.  _Ah, beautiful, just beautiful. I hate myself. I quite literally hate myself._ The dark wizard tossed the thought away as he tossed back his vibrant azure hair.

"I have never willed ill upon anyone before," Schala murmured brokenly. "But one day you will get yours, Prophet."

Magus seemed to dismiss the comment with a simple swipe of his hand. In reality, the words cut deep into his heart. "Don't forget what I have said. You speak and he is dust. Do you understand me, Princess?" He invested a coldness to mask the pain inside.

Meanwhile, Janus picked up a silver candleholder and menaced it at Magus. His older self had to stifle laughter.  _Was I really that naïve? That childish?_ Janus feigned arrogance but Magus knew himself well enough (and why wouldn't he?) that the eyes did not fool him. They shadowed with fear. Somehow the young prince knew that it would be  _he_ that ended up as 'dust' if things should not proceed so well.

_Indeed, who wants to die? Surely not I, as I have much to do in this life._

Schala returned his steely gaze steadily. One had to admire the spirit. The world as she knew it was falling apart yet the princess faced it. She openly admitted her fear yet didn't allow it to devastate her. "I won't forget. Not on my life...or his."

A completely irrational urge swept Magus. The need to embrace his sister nearly overwhelmed him but the dark wizard restrained it. It disturbed him, but Magus passed it off as his fear of losing her again. An illogical fear. To reveal his identity at this crucial moment would be foolhardy.

Pulling his hood down to further to shadow his face, the self-proclaimed prophet turned on a heel to retreat, his heart as heavy as his steps.

Next, the sorcerer explored the Zeal Palace. Perhaps the foolish false oracle hoped to recruit allies. Magus chuckled softly. Another idiocy to pile onto that man's wall of sheer stupidity. Alura was dead. Dalton hated Jarl almost as much as Magus himself. The Queen couldn't care less. Besides, anyone who dared support the insurrectionist would meet a most unpleasant end.

Walking straight in, the wizard ignored the looks of contempt and fear the Enlightened gave him. He was well acquainted to such looks, having endured them all his life. He proceeded under a golden archway, cape whispering as it dragged on the cold blue-black tiles. He ascended several gold-glossed hardwood steps and continued pass parallel statues of platinum goddess into the center antechamber.

"You can run Jarl," Magus laughed hatefully. "But you can't hide."

Inside the dim hallway, two blue Nus stood sentry to another flight of stairs. Neither spoke nor moved to prevent him entry as Magus climbed the steps. They had not been there before...perhaps something to do with Jarl? Or his mother? Did they fear assassination? Neither mattered. He would have his answers soon enough.

In an hour and a half, in fact.

The dark prince swept in. Her majesty's throne room was a massive chamber several hundred feet wide. A canopy of purple carpet cascaded from the ceiling to the floor. In the center had been erected an enormous throne with red and violet cushioning with a platinum interlacing gold. A crimson carpet led up to the chair, currently empty...

Or so he had thought...

In a wink of light, Dalton appeared slung casually over the seat.

"Oh, it's you..." muttered Magus, veiling none of his disgust.

"Ah, nice to see you too,  _Prophet_ ," Dalton sneered. "Are you looking for Ceres Jean? Sorry, you'll have to take up your business with me."

Though the sorcerer came with no intention of speaking with his mother, Dalton's casual address of her and his infuriating condescending tone inspired immediate retaliation. "You'll address her as everyone else,  _Advisor_ ," Magus retorted with the same voice Dalton used while 'quoting' his occupation. "Nor do I speak with her lapdogs."

A chuckle emanated from the Advisor's throat. "Oh, come now, don't you think I mean a bit more than formal titles to her? I'm more than any lapdog. Why just this afternoon we—"

"Spare me the details," Magus cut in, making a sour face. "I've come looking for Jarl."

At that moment the Queen of Zeal appeared from a side door. She looked jubilant, beautiful, entirely in her element. Her gown of blue-gold silk swirled as she walked up to her throne. As she often wore, a gold torque encircled her neck, and a bejeweled crown sat upon her blue head. Dalton made a show of grandly stepping down but to the dark wizard it was clearly a retreat. Her sharp eyes sent the Advisor back to his place—as lapdog.

"Your majesty," Magus spoke respectfully though he desired nothing more than to wring her neck. "I've been looking for the other...ahem...prophet...However, have been unable to locate him. I...prophesize doom if we do not find him."

"Indeed?" Her sapphire eyes sparkled. Amusement? Annoyance? He could not tell.

"Yes, your majesty. His interference shall be the ruin of our beloved kingdom." The dark wizard concealed his smile. He would ride this lie all the way. About time Jarl received some of what he dished out to Magus. About time he felt the lies entangle him, the secrecy unfolding, his future unraveling.

"Funny. He said the same thing about you," Dalton noted.

Skepticism flashed in his mother's eyes as well but she relented. "I'll send some guards to search for him."

"My deepest gratitude, your majesty. By your leave I shall search for him myself." As the dark prince turned to return through the archway the Queen called him back.

"Not so fast, Magus. There is a matter I wish to discuss with you...It's about Schala."

As if all the air to be had vanished, Magus could barely draw breath. Had Schala revealed 'his' attack? If so, the curtains would fall...And how ironic would it be that should they unearth his true identity as they sentenced him for the attempted 'rape' on his own sister?

Each word the Queen spoke were as daggers to his skin. "Schala has been acting strangely lately. She has disobeyed me and countermands my orders in front of my attendants. She totally flaunts her rebellion and I fear she has been a bad influence on Janus as well. I've taken measures to see that remain apart for the most part." The air that had been held inside burst out in gush, causing Magus to choke on his relief. Still, her last remark dissolved the fear, replacing it with blinding anger.  _So not only did you deny me your love but your tried to deny my sister's as well!_

"We must do something about her."

"Ah, and what did you have in mind?"

"We need her power to activate the Mammon Machine and summon the Great Lavos. She has refused me every time. My own daughter! As you know, time is running short. If she is not willing to generously offer her aid, we shall have to take preemptive measures to ensure her participation."

Indeed, Magus knew all this, having lived the entire ordeal firsthand. Being so young, and not all that inquisitive, Janus had only learned of the mad scheme too late. But not too late, of course, to be a part of Zeal's downfall. How every did they manage to wrestle Schala into aiding their mother?

Now he would.

"We just take her," Dalton supplied. As if illustration, the Advisor walked his middle and index finger in mid-air, snatching them up with his other hand.

"What? Kidnap her?" came Magus' gasp.

His mother scented his hesitation, as a wolf on a blood trail. "She will not go on her own. She endangers the future for all Zealians. Our lives which could span centuries and beyond she has cut short. In that sense, she is killing us."

In desperation, Magus tried to order his mind. The barrier helped some, preventing outward manifestation of his confusion, but ultimately the dark wizard couldn't fathom the use of force on his beloved sister. Still, no words had ever swayed his mother, so why did Magus think he could change her mind now?

"I volunteer," Dalton said with a grand bow.

An image of the pompous advisor groping Schala flashed through the sorcerer's mind. He spoke up immediately. "While I have no doubt that your Advisor is able dispensing with the business," the dark wizard said, with a sardonic nod of his head to Dalton. "Perhaps I should handle the matter. You see she has become quite trusting of me and thus I may be able to make her see the seriousness of the situation. I could spirit her away with the minimum of fuss."

The sapphire eyes of Ceres slid from advisor to prophet. She must have known that each had his agenda for the Queen announced, "Thank you for your offers but I will deal with this myself. She is my daughter and thus my concern."

Standing, indicating an end to the meeting, the two men remained unmoved, waiting for leave to go. With a wave of her hand, the Queen dismissed them. Magus dispelled some anxiety, the kind that often shadowed him during the visits with his mother. That trepidation rapidly returned when a hand crept upon his shoulder and brought him about face. About face to his mother.

Magus had never anticipated complete control as this was the woman who'd given him life and had, indirectly, taken it away. However, he hadn't thought the mere up-close sight of her would make his stomach clench so.

"You are always so eager to get away from me...What is it? Am I really that ugly?" she teased.

"Ah—I—No. No, your majesty," he sputtered, disgusted at his floundering.

Her chuckles seemed innocent. That they were not. "A jest, I assure you. But seriously now what do you think of my daughter? Is she pretty?"

Normally, the dark wizard could envision his opponent's move but this left him baffled. Pretty? Certainly, but why did it matter? "Of course. She is as lovely as her mother."

Again, that silkily voiced laughter. "And you must have a clever mother."  _Yes. And unspeakably evil._

"Dalton you may go." Ceres added a sharp look to her Advisor when he appeared to linger. He didn't leave happily, irked that the prophet had one-upped him like a favored child, yet again.

She pulled him by the collar so close, the sorcerer of shadow feared she might be able to see her son Janus, in his eyes. Her breath made the dark wizard grit his teeth. "Between you and me, I think Dalton is a poor choice for my sweet Schala."

All Magus could think to say was, "As do I."

"So what do you think? Make a good bride for you? I mean I have to marry her off to  _someone_  and I can't possibly stomach the thought of handing her to Dalton—"

"No! I mean yes! Yes, your majesty."

Her hands clapped together loudly. Much too loudly. She was a riot of sight and sound. "You may go. If all is well, we will all rule with the power of Lavos."

Giving a curt nod, Magus fled the throne room. Inside his stomach churned until all he could think about was how badly he needed to regurgitate. However heaving in front of two sophisticated Enlightened attendants wouldn't have been deemed dignified.

Magus contained himself, acting nonchalant. What made his usually pale visage a deathly hue, however, was the immediate presence of a lovely young princess.

Schala. Had she heard him agree to her mother's proposal—to force her hand in both marriage  _and_  summoning Lavos?

Her eyes told all.

"Schala..."

Spinning on a heel, the hem of her gorgeous blue gown floating, Schala took off down the golden steps. Every cell in the so-called prophet's body screamed at him to run to her, to tell her how very sorry he was. To tell her that he was her brother and would never betray her in such a manner. But the words fell from his lips as fine sand through fingers.

"Was that the princess!?" shrieked Dalton. He whacked Magus on the shoulder. "You let her get away!"

With a deliberate cruelty, the dark wizard snapped his arm around and thrust the Advisor to the wall. "Out of my way. I'm going to see my sister."

_Let all who should stand before my path die before I lay a hand upon them for any demise shall be more merciful than that which I shall inflict._

_Lost and irreplaceable. Forever. Oh, Jarl you slick bastard. You destroyed whatever hope I'd had of mending the relationship with my beloved sister._

As the wizard swept down the steps, a swirl of magic blurred his vision momentarily. Blood rushed in his veins with a vicious joy—his quest to seek out his sister momentarily forgotten. Earlier in the day, the sorcerer had 'tagged' Jarl with a tracer spell. As part of the incantation's effect, it would let the user know whenever their victim attempted to channel to the arcane arts.

Working quickly, Magus weaved his hands in several arches to initiate a transport that would lead him straight to the other prophet. He had to act swiftly before the signature dissolved and the tracer rendered useless.

Magic is meant to be cast slowly and with due attention. Magus had done neither. His focus solely on the treacherous Jarl, the spell ended prematurely, landing him head first into a snow dune. The breath blasted from his lungs, the wizard gagged, spitting out snow.

As he tried to assemble himself, two hands wrapped around the sorcerer's wrists. The force was unbelievably strong—perhaps artificially enhanced—and Magus found himself dragged to a nearby cave. At first, struggling against magic-induced disorientation, the self-proclaimed prophet didn't even know his own location, let alone that of Jarl's. But the image of a shimmering blue portal and an inner rock face brought recognition soon enough.

Magus broke from the hold, staggering back against a cold cavern wall. His breath came as knives to his own ears when the dark wizard gazed at his 'captor'.

Jarl. Just who he hoped to find.

Whipping off his prophet's cloak, Magus demanded, "What in the name of Zeal have you done to the portal?"

Jarl had not fared well since last they'd met. His jaw slackened as if unable to contain the weight of his lower teeth, his skin had become emaciated and formerly sharp eyes sunk in with shadows. Still, as steel, his voice held, "Just what needed to be done, Magus. We shall be as one. Janus will be whole—the time fractures will close.

"This game will be over."

Magus' fiery eyes flashed hatefully. "The game has just begun." Tossing his bloodish cape over a shoulder, the former prince withdrew his scythe. "You've completely lost it, haven't you?"

Lifting his head, Jarl also lifted a blade—identical to Magus' own. His downcast demeanor almost—but not entirely—concealed a deceptive mind. The wind continued to howl outside as a vicious beast. "The more you deny it, Magus, the closer you come to it—you can not escape yourself! I know where I stand—do you!?"

More times than he cared to remember did Magus come face to face with 'himself' and the sheer trauma of what he'd become. He would never be at peace with himself, he knew. Tragedy would follow the dark wizard all the days of his life and though he walked through fire, darkness, and death he feared nothing, for the greatest fear was that of oneself.

And in single breath, Magus challenged that fear.

"I would rather be no one than the someone you would have me be. If history is to changed so let it. If the world is to be destroyed so be it. If my fate is to die, I must simply laugh." And that laughter which emanated from his throat contained no mirth, as cold as the winds that screamed over the Terran Continent.

In the end there can only be one.

And that one would be him.

Like a mirror, flames coiled both prophets to be tossed in a ring of heat at each other. As the blazes died down, Magus and Jarl fell back, briefly stunned by the combined force of magic. Magus recovered first. Snatching up his scythe, the blue-haired wizard whipped in an arc to behead his adversary.

Jarl reacted quickly, evading the fatal blow. His scythe a few feet away, and inconveniently out of reach, the black-haired wizard summoned magic to conjure up an ice-sword which he promptly threw at his foe. Magus darted to the left but not swiftly enough before the sword impaled his arm.

His cry of pain was brief but sharp. Instinctively, the sorcerer erected a magical forcefield, glimmering multi-hued in the light of the fluctuating portal. He collapsed on both knees, scythe falling from cold gloved fingers. The glacial weapon in his arm melted. It had not been created to kill, merely to maim, incapacitating the victim by slowly freezing the systems and ultimately leaving him at the mercy of Jarl.

The arcane barrier kept Jarl occupied while Magus concentrated on reviving his faded limb. A sluggish cold sank its teeth into the wizard, sapping his consciousness but he fought it off. Using his lowest level fire spell, the sorcerer softened the ice until it broke around his wound and life rushed in. Magus gasped, breathing in relief.

Not a moment too soon either. As Jarl continued with in his ice-magic vein, Magus boosted his spell of fire. The energy produced by opposite ends of the magic spectrum collided with a force enough to shake the cave's foundation and raining down dust particles into the hair and cape of the combatants. Eating each other, as magic of such direct opposites would, eventually the energy fizzed out. Like a fire quenched by a stream or ice melted by heat.

This time, Jarl came up first in a flurry of cave dust. The flat of his blade caught his enemy at the shoulder as Magus attempted to spin on his heel. The combined momentum hurled him hard to the ground, bruising a rib. Reversing the arc, Jarl aimed the weapon downward to stab the dark wizard.

As Magus scampered away, misfortune struck him again in the form of a blade. It missed his back but hit his lower left leg. Blood gushed out in a ribbon of red and Jarl withdrew the weapon then dived in again to finish the job. Magus dodged steel and reached out for his own scythe. Jarl intercepted, however, using the curve of his blade to throw Magus' scythe out into the blizzard.

Magus cursed, the pain shooting up his leg. Jarl advanced, murder in his eyes. The present to the past, the past to a dream. Again, in the dream world. Again, the terrible sight of his sister's death. Again, the sight of his own.

 _A silhouetted figure, carrying_ his  _scythe, advanced on the unsuspecting young woman. Danger! Fear fueled his heart to thrash and yet the sorcerer himself could do nothing, constrained by means beyond his comprehension. The former prince, helpless to save his precious princess as he'd been those many years ago._

_The scythe made no sound as it cleanly sliced Schala in half. His sister simply slumped over to her side without a word. Her mysterious killer said nothing._

_Jarl..._

_A milky veil nearly engulfed Magus' vision as his consciousness reasserted itself. In the background, soft whispering sounds could be heard...the sound of rustling cloth, of an unleashed weapon, of the approach..._

_Coming closer–to him._

Crying out in fear, pain and rage, Magus leapt up to grab Jarl's scythe, attempting to wrest it out of his rival's hands. The two struggled with the weapon, hands burning from the pressure of wrenching it from each other's grip. A failed kick to Magus' midsection gave the dark wizard more opportunity to claim it but at the last second he faked a grab only to punch Jarl in the nose.

With a gasp prompted from the stinging of his leg, the blue-haired sorcerer stumbled outside, in the snow and wind. A vicious winter storm screeched upon the barren land, impairing sight and hearing. Magus slumped to his knees, his hands digging into the hard-packed snow for his lost scythe. His breath rang harshly as the dark wizard fought off faintness. Though blood ceased to pour from his wound, it continued to sap his strength. It was at that moment that the shadow sorcerer direly longed for a healing spell.

He chuckled caustically. The Prince of Darkness—a healer? Not likely.

The sound of footsteps. Reacting instinctively, Magus lifted up the scythe to meet Jarl's attack. The unexpected parry jarred both men, immediately breaking the locked blades apart. Jarl kicked Magus even as he himself flopped down. The force of the thrust knocked the former prince face down into the snow.

Magus lay still.  _Play dead. Let the fool come to me._

Silence. Just the cry of the unquiet wind. No footsteps. No cursing or taunting. No ring of steel. No chant of magic. Had Jarl left, thinking him dead? Still, Magus couldn't afford to pass off the opportunity and refrained from movement, not even shivering in the damnable cold. His nose and mouth clogged with the snow. Magus knew he would have to come up from air, eventually. Hopefully it wouldn't come to that.

It didn't. A hand grabbed his hair by the blue roots and hauled the dark wizard to his feet. A scythe's blade came to throat. Air flooded his face, so much the sorcerer could barely breathe, like a thirsty mariner in a salt-water ocean. Between tight fingers Magus flicked his own weapon with a twist of his wrist.

Magus ducked down from Jarl's blade and spun around on a knee, stabbing outward. Jarl parried not a second too soon, sending sharp sparks into the blizzard. At a distinct disadvantage, the former prince leapt back, swiping out with the scythe warningly. As a magician, he returned to his element.

Muttering with two frozen lips, and swirling a hand, he sent a sizable ice chuck to repel his attacker. Positively convulsed with the cold, the dark wizard resorted to breathing in his hands to increase circulation.  _I have to get out of this weather lest I freeze._ Still, Magus didn't relish the idea of returning to the cave to meet what seemed like the Void.

As the former prince summoned his magic, Jarl began to gleam. He appeared demonic, as midnight hair flowed down to match his cloak. His eyes were as hard as steel as he whipped out his hands in reverse semi-circles. Magus recognized the spell—a shifting magic barrier, the same he employed against the time travelers.

Having used the spell before, the dark wizard knew how to combat it. Remodulating his casting spectrum until a spell inflicted damage, Magus stepped forward and extended his hands. Golden beams of light with harsh bolts spanned out but failed to pierce the wall. Not lightning then. Magus resorted to cones of fire, spheres of ice, and the deadly magic shadow.

The last attack injured Jarl so the blue-haired prophet prepared for his most potent spell: the Shadows of the Damned, or more commonly known as Dark Matter. But even as his hands whirled in the air, Magus noted the eyes of his opponent—a victorious smile danced within.

 _Should I be so foolish to put all of my energy into a spell he will likely alter his barrier._ He smiled then, sardonically. The 'Heroes' had moronically done so in their battle. Magus credited himself with having a bit more intelligence.  _He'll change the frequency as soon as the magic's spent and spell cast._

Quickly, Magus dispelled the shadow energy. Instead of fancy words, he turned to hard steel, leaping at his adversary with a scythe. Jarl parried. More sparks, more rings of steel. Cursing against pain, Magus spun his blade in a shining arc downward. Jarl dodged artfully, then retaliated, sweeping his own scythe at Magus' ankles to trip him. The former prince jumped over the blade. His blade came out in a thrust. That, too, left no mark as the other prophet stepped back to evade his blade.

"Remember Magus. If I die, you die!"

Magus slashed. Missed. "Neither of which would be a bad thing."

"Oh, come now, Magus. Admit it—you want to rule Zeal yourself! You're just like me!"

Hatred poured into the dark wizard, stained his eyesight red. His attacks came fast and furious. "I am not like you—I am nothing like you! I could never be so sick, so evil."

"Really?" Jarl taunted, eyes flashing as he made a sideways thrust. "You killed Cyrus after all. You transformed poor Glenn into a frog. You even abandoned your own sister!...I say you're the more evil one of the two of us!"

Magus staggered back. Though he hated it, the wizard felt himself pressed back to the cave. Wind harassed him from all sides and Jarl's assault seemed endless and vicious while his own was as child's play. While grateful to be shielded from the blistering cold, Magus felt a lump of fear in his throat.

His blood ran cold in his veins at the sight of the portal.

Blackness, as deep as his soul, invaded the depths.

"What...In the Void...?" Magus stumbled, his head spinning. His numerous wounds stung fiercely and he tasted blood in his mouth. Both hands refused to say still.

Jarl stepped casually in, smiling wickedly. "Precisely that, Magus." He struck the dark wizard in the face with the shaft of his weapon, knocking his victim down. Now the world swam before the prince's graying vision and Magus forced himself up on a good hand and knee. His beautiful sapphire hair fell over a shoulder so that the shadow sorcerer only heard his opponent.

"The Void. You are a part of it—you can't escape it! Live in it and despair! What you see is your past and your future!" With an exalted shout, the false prophet kicked Magus in the stomach, thrusting him into the swirling pit of madness.

In seconds, the train of thought vanished in Magus' mind. Indeed, the mind itself seemed to fade. His body was only halfway in, to the waist, but enough so the former leader of the Mystics could experience the full force of the negativity of the Void.

It was darkness so black it quenched all sight. Yet images floated within that never-ending night, darker than the shadows it penetrated. For a moment, time was broken; the past and present merged...

_..."Janus...Still, I can't. I'm sorry."..._

_..."You'll make a good assassin."..._

_..."Magus...I have something for you."..._

Magus moaned, entrapped in a past he could not evade, its pain as fresh as reopened wounds, the blood of hurt washing over him. Like quicksand the blackness sucked him in, draining the wizard. In desperation, Magus flailed his arms about. He might as well have been fighting the wind. Jarl's voice came as if from another dimension, from time's flowing river.

"Give in, Magus! We are as one! Our destinies are intertwined...You have felt incomplete since childhood. You have never been whole. Bring back Janus!"

Matter reformed so that the dark wizard could see his enemy with blurry eyes as if truly underwater. But before the sorcerer could say nay or yea, the images swallowed him again. This time it traveled to a future that had already been written.

_..."Schala!"..._

_..."No, Janus! Stay away!"..._

_..."But why...? Ahh!"..._

The intensity of the pain drove into his skull, tearing his body seemingly apart. Blackness of lost consciousness made his body limp even as it floated in the nothingness.  _I'm tired. So very tired. Let me sleep. Let this be ended._

Just as his eyelids drooped, the biting edge of cold metal revived him to this plane of existence. Magus grabbed the necklace tormenting his cheek, intent on hurling it aside. The pendant...Schala's amulet, the gift for him as a child...He squeezed it between stiff fingers, feeling her love surround him, as it had those many years ago.

_I must not give up. Not now. Not ever. Schala depends on me. Everything depends on me! The quest stands on the edge of a knife...or scythe. It will fall to the ruin of Lavos' darkness...But hope returns...if a little boy forgets the shadows but instead looks into the light..._

Magus bought the amulet up to his cracked lips and kissed the blue diamond. Like a mother's medicine (though certainly not his mother!) it poured reassurance into his raging soul. With the renewed strength, he bolted upright on his seat. Jarl started, white as death. In an act of sheer emotional desperation, Magus dove at his hated adversary and used the momentum to hurl himself out even as he shoved Jarl in.

Unprepared for the maneuver, Jarl fell straight in, swallowed up by total blackness. His scream, a thing born of hell, made Magus' ears bleed. Collapsing to his knees, the former prince shook off the horrific feeling of the Void. A hand reached up to his vibrant blue hair. In shock, he counted several silver strands.

_The Void. It depleted my strength and probably consumed years of my life. It invaded my mind, tore at the delicate fabric of my sanity...I shall never be the same again..._

Having fed the pit of madness its desire, that of a living person, the Void dispersed, leaving behind the blue portal. As Magus watched, transfixed, a humanoid being emerged. After it stepped past the fluctuating field, the portal sealed shut.

Though not very tall, certainly inches shorter than the dark wizard, the man cut an imposing figure. He wore ivory robes with a gold rope belt. A teal-blue cloak fell from his shoulders like a waterfall. His hair—a silvery white—enhanced the sharp blue of his eyes. When he turned to view Magus, the dark wizard noted a peculiar intensity of his pupils.

Quietly Magus bent to lift his scythe. His fingers tightened, anticipating a need for action. Slowly, the wizard climbed to two wobbly feet. He prepared to spring at the bizarre intruder, hoping to catch him unaware and bring the matter to a swift conclusion.

But the intruder caught sight of the weapon. "Oh, now, stop that!" He whipped out a hand, instantly disarming Magus. "I'm not here to harm you. In fact, I might do you a lot of good."

In a motion too swift for Magus to react, the man grabbed him by the hands and rapidly chanted. The ground fell away from their feet. Still, he remained inert, unpleasantly aware that the slightest resistance on his part could prove fatal for them both.

They reappeared inside the Valor Library. Deserted, for the most part. Likely nearly everyone had disembarked to focus their aid on the Ocean Palace in its glorious hour. Books lay here and there, some still smoldering from Jarl's fire frenzy. Immediately, Magus broke apart, words of the Mists of the Void on his lips. He choked it down, however, as the sorcerer recognized the man who now lounged on a chair before him.

"You...You're the man in that painting..."

His smile slid lazily between two lips. "Zephyrain in the flesh. Although, I've never quite understood that statement: 'in the flesh'. I mean, who's flesh would you be in, other than your own?"

Despite the man's mild manner, Magus remained wary. For all he knew, Jarl had one last card up his sleeve. "What do you want with me?"

Zephyrain chuckled. "To thank you for assisting me. Jarl's been quite a nuisance trying to track down. Now that you've sent him back into the Void I should be able to keep him out of trouble."

"You're responsible for that bastard?! Kill him!"

He frowned at that. "I can't. He's my son."

Magus tossed back his hair and laid two gloved hands on the table before Zephyrain. His eyes flashed. "I would murder such a child in its crib. Do the world a favor and rid us of him. If he's your son, then he's your responsibility to eliminate."

Standing up, the white-haired wizard leaned forward. "As is yours to kill your mother?"

Magus flinched. The thought of murdering his own mother haunted the mystic magician daily, nightly. The evil of his matriarch that had been invested in him since birth could be effectively destroyed with her demise. Still...

"Not so easy, is it?"

"Shut. Up."

A smile of satisfaction on his lips, Zephyrain strode down the rows of bookshelves. Every book of every conceivable size, shape and color spanned for several hundred feet. Primers on prophecy. Tomes on magical spectrum. Books of time fragmentation and manuscripts on portal spawning. Several manuscripts labeled 'Beings Born of Dreams' lay on a side table. Here and there an Enlightened labored to salvage victims of Jarl's book-slaughter.

Zephyrain dismissed the mess, propping up another table with a book. He selected a couple of primers, tapping each spine in thought as he proceeded along. Finally, he gathered three, carried them to the table and immediately leafed through reach. At length, the enigmatic man presented a passage to Magus.

_Lost and irreplaceable...But should one know how to bend the Wings of Time to his will he can alter the flow of time..._

Patience—not a virtue Magus was acquainted with. He snatched the book out of the old man's hands. Scanning the neat lines of text, the blue-haired sorcerer tossed the book onto the table and seized the white-haired intruder. "You know how to change time, don't you old man?! Tell me! Tell me how!"

With a yelp, Magus released him, victim of a repellent magic barricade. He rubbed his burned hands as Zephyrain spoke. "For one thing, keep your hands off. Second of all, I am not an old man! I still have my beauty youth." A hand streamed his silver hair. "And, lastly, don't be so quick to change time to your needs. Think things through."

Think? Think! Magus was literally livid. The world stood up the precipice of annihilation and some rickety hunchback man wanted him to twiddle his thumbs! Keeping his voice neutral, he muttered, "We'll discuss that in a minute. I want to know if Jarl is under control now. Will he further threaten Zeal?"  _Because if he does, I'll use your ribs in which to stab him._

"No." Magus was almost disappointed. Almost. "Jarl is my problem. I'll deal with him on my own good time and in my own good way. Consider him taken care of."

"Why was he even here, then? What was with all that 'as one' nonsense?"

"Ah, that," Zephyrain mused as he sat down. "As I'm sure you've guessed already, he's not quite right in the head. He doesn't play with a full deck of cards, as they say. Although I'm not even sure who this 'they' are that everyone keeps referring to." He chuckled at his own joke. When Magus didn't appreciate it with a laugh, Zephyrain continued, "He fell into the Void as a child. Messed with his brains, you see."

" _I_  fell into the Void when I was younger."

Zephyrain's eyes widened. "Oh...and you turned out just fine!" Magus' dark expression hurried him on. "Any rate, he then saw your face. He claimed your minds melded briefly—as one. Ever since then he's been determined to seek you out."

Overwhelmed, the dark wizard turned away and squeezed his forehead with a hand. "Janus...the portal. No, it was more than a portal. It was the Void." He glanced over a shoulder. "So, he truly believes his own screwed logic. He wasn't lying..."

"No. Not as far as he knew, I assume. And so saying, I must be off." Straightening, Zephyrain clapped his hands. "No telling what manner of grief Jarl can still do with a mound of nothing. I wish you the best in your battle with Lavos. Remember this well: a pebble may do nothing but a few stones thrown together might change the course of history."

Magus watched the wizard cast a teleport spell. A part of him longed to ask for the aid of the true prophet; pat of him repulsed of lowering to the level of begging for help. He was the Prince of Darkness, the Leader of the Mystics. He didn't need the help of some ragged old bones. "Stones? You mean allies, don't you? I have no allies. I need no allies—I stand alone."

"He who stands alone, stands not at all."

With that Zephyrain vanished in a cone of iridescent dust. In an ill humor, the shadow sorcerer cast the book aside. Screw destiny—he'd make his own. Damn allies, too! His strength and magic proficiency had served him well throughout the dangerous, lonely years. Damn it, damn it all to the Void!

"Ah, there you are, you jackass prophet! Where's your cohort?"

So intent upon his twisted mission, that Magus didn't even see Dalton stroll through the gold-and-glass doors of the Library. Cape flowing as he strutted, the Queen's Advisor yanked on Magus' hair. "Answer me! Where's Jarl?"

In a simple twist of his arm, Magus swiveled on a heel and shoved Dalton against the table, pinning him effectively. Dalton's cheeks crimsoned and he squirmed in the ironclad grip to no avail. "In the Void," came Magus' cold voice. "Exactly where you'll go if you pull one more stunt."

"Very funny. Get the hell off me or else!"

"I'm not joking."

"And neither arm I. I'll call for the guards—"

With disgust, Magus dropped the Advisor. Had the dark wizard cared to enjoy it, Dalton fell with little grace, cursing Magus' parentage. Amusing, that, since the advisor had no real idea as to Magus' legacy. Neither snared his attention, though. All he could think of was of the day, of the time. Evening had fallen over the Kingdom of Zeal. A thousand stars shined as a thousand diamonds among a sea of black.

It was time.

The Day of Lavos.


	10. Survive the Darkness

_Survive the darkness…Has not my whole life been a journey through darkness with only the candle of hope to light my way?...Ah, wasteful contemplation. So much time consumed for this very moment…Will I….Can I succeed? Is that even humanly possible? Ah, but I must for there is no recourse. A raven on its flight faces many trials but at last finds home though it might cost him dearly..._

Thinking. A simple process, one that eluded Magus this day.

Like an erratic storm gathering overhead, his thoughts wheeled about, making coherent reflection nigh on impossible. So many lost years in preparation, in the building hatred. So many nights spent with a book in his lap that his sleep-deprived eyes skimmed through, a hunger unquenchable even in the early morning hours. So much time that the sorcerer had begun to wonder, if only within the deepest recess of his soul, that this moment would never come to pass.

Yet today was the day. The day of Lavos.

Violet robes swirled about his ankles as the dark wizard stepped within the Earthbound compound. The sight of it did order his mind enough to sneer at the run-down inhabitation. Such an undignified crowd, thought Magus, as he eyed the skeletal citizens in their filthy rags and unkempt, dun-colored hair.

What a miserable hovel. He was a man of the world; he was use to much better. Still, those emotions were tinted more with anger than disgust. His magicless days had left a scar on the former prince. Or, more to the point, how the Enlightened teased and tormented him about it. "A Zealian prince with less magic than an Earthbound…" they'd mused. "Did you ever consider looking for an Earthbound with features as ugly as yours?"

The shadow sorcerer glowered, the old hurt haunting him. Few ever broached Magus about that these days. They wouldn't dare—not after the young prince had decked a rude Enlightened who'd said that too loudly. Still, the dark wizard could recall their whispered words, their furtive glances.

Neither Earthbound nor the Enlightened treated him with any respect. The former hated his statue as prince and his arrogance; the latter considered him a pariah, an insignificant aberration.

Oh, if Magus could vent his fury on all those who annoyed him, well, there'd be too few people in all of Zeal and the Terran Continent to keep the race going.

Focus, he chided himself. All that was in the past, almost literally. The sheer volume and diversity of his magic named him a master of the Art. His dictatorship had nearly encompassed Guardia, had not a whim of fate diverted him. With a single word he could make stone dust, burn whole villages and tear mountains down.

And all of that would be meaningless if he could not win this one battle now.

Two small Earthbound children tossed a crude ball about. Magus sidestepped them as if they didn't exist. He'd rarely engaged in 'play' as a child. That was not deemed proper for royalty and he'd no one but Schala to play with anyway. Schala was often whisked away by their mother for days at a time. Magus had thought that merely a part of her duties but took into account Queen Zeal's word about keeping them apart.

Queen had always deployed deception and that proved to be especially prevalent as Magus turned a corner to glance into the Elder's hut. It was with a little surprise that he witnessed Dalton seize his sister, utter his threat to the room's occupants, and vanish with her in a shaft of green light.

Fire raged in the sorcerer's head but he cooled it with a splash of common sense. Magus darted back into the antechamber of the cavern breathing down his anger. The duplicity was hardly a surprise. Clearly his mother did not trust him with task of nabbing her daughter. "Damn you, Ceres! Damn you to the Void!"

Hmmm, the Void…I've no doubt you're already headed there. Say hello to Jarl when you get there.

Pulling out his morbid thoughts, the blue-haired prophet prepared to return to Zeal. He halted as Janus stumbled out of the room, hindered by his over-sized robes. He too was furious but unlike his older self that anger was splayed upon his face. Not noticing a rock, the young prince fell, face-first, into the ground. Magus made no more to help him up. Not that the stubborn, proud Janus would accept a hand anyway.

_You and I are too alike…But being the same person that would make sense._

"And where do you think you're going, Janus?"

"I'm a prince," he snapped, puffing himself up and trying to appear defiant. It was a useless gesture. "My business is my own." As a shadow darkened Magus's face he hurried on. "But if you really must now I was just going to ask Schala what's for breakfast."

"It's evening."

Janus winced. "Eh, dinner I mean."

Why do I enjoy tormenting myself so? Did he truly despise himself as to take pleasure in self-inflicted pain? Dismissing the thought, the prophet swept up the young prince in a single hand. "Don't you remember what we agreed to,  _prince_?"

Janus struggled to loosen the grip. It only tightened. "I didn't agree to anything. You just read things the way you wanted to. Now let me go or I'll go complain to my mother!"

The dark wizard quoted back the discussion. "I remember it word for word. It's a gift really. I can see words if they are writing now in my mind." Now was that the truth he wondered or was it a memory from he was now…Or his younger self? Ah, time and her secrets!

"I also remember my words, prince. The spell of transmutation can not be easily erased. In fact, I might not be able to remove it at all…"

The caused Janus to gulp.

"Now run home," Magus said sweetly, releasing the boy. Janus did just that. Would the fool of a child listen? The dark wizard figured so. He'd diverted that particular current of time's river, placing stones in the path. Now came time to finish the damn, to change the flow of time altogether.

Two dark crimson eyes lifted to the moonlight seeping from the cracked ceiling.

He saw no sundial; knew no spells to tell time. Yet he felt the moment.

Magus did not warp out of the Earthbound cave. He would not waste the energy on such trivial things with the encounter with Lavos looming. If he hoped to fell the beast, the former prince would need every last reverse of magic. As if walking in a dream, Magus left the caves and out into the wintry terrain. Why the designers of the Sky Gates decided to build them so far from the Earthbound compound, and on the surface to boot, was beyond him.

Once inside, Magus wrung his hands to stave off the cold. Maybe he should have employed some magic for his return to the Zeal Islands. Sighing, the dark wizard stepped onto the blue disk. The transportation disorientation barely affected him now. The closer to the moment the dark wizard came, the farther he threaded from reality.

Before the self-professed prophet knew it, he had passed into the hallway to the Throne Room. The magically sealed door posed no problem to one possessing the pendant. As he entered, the light automatically burst to life for him. Empty of inhabitants. None lavished on the throne now.

No, likely they'd transported to the Ocean Palace already, as evidence by the sapphire portal shimmering in the middle of the room. Like a swimmer preparing for a dive, Magus took a deep breath. Then he took the plunge. Straight in. The sensations that surrounded him were no strangers to the dark wizard. Still, it was a reminder of his deadly mission.

After a moment of suspension, Magus emerged into a brightly-lit antechamber. Even the wonders of posh Zeal Palace could not compare to the sheer majesty of this place. If he considered the Kingdom of Zeal the sea then the Ocean Palace resembled a glacier. Cold. Beautiful. Deadly. Evil. Magus felt that evil seep up form the blue-and-red tiles into this heart.

_Queen Zeal…You are a fool. Do you truly believe you can use Lavos to achieve immortality?_

Of course, you can't spell immortality without mortality.

As Magus walked through the lavish halls, red lights gleamed in regular intervals like eyes over a campfire. Several pedestals marked each chamber and antechamber with aureate statues. He stepped among the dull brown tiles, wary of the glowing pits. Should the dark wizard lose him balance and fall the scorching matter might incinerate him…or do nothing at all. It was a not a curiosity he wished to take to task.

Red, blue, and yellow gargoyles perched on more pedestals. For any not deemed worthy of the rite of passage these demon-creatures would spring to life and make short work of trespassers. And if the pits and gargoyles didn't do the offender in, one could be sure the massive stone guardian would. Magus whistled, uncommon of him. His mother had been thorough.

Not thorough enough though. She missed one thing—him.

Apparently the congregation has passed on ahead, as Magus noted the use of the myriad elevators. He swept under a gold walkway and passed by another cluster of gargoyles. Like the others, they paid him no heed. Not that it would matter if they dared anyway. Magus was at the pinnacle of his power.

Again, that question fringed on his mind: would it be enough.

A highly inconvenient time to be worrying about that, he knew.

That was especially true considering the fact that the door to the Mammon Machine loomed before him. Magus tugged at the pendant, hoping to draw strength from it as he had in the past. For so long he'd slaved to have this one chance and here, now, the dark wizard could barely scrap together the courage to pass over that dreaded threshold.

Like a breath upon his cheek, the Black Wind…

Then there was laughter. His mother's laughter. Magus gritted his teeth and withdrew the pendant so that the light from its sapphire flashed on the archway. For him, the door opened. Head held high, Magus walked in, his purple robes rustling against like-color carpet. His mask was firmly in place—his face betrayed none of the trepidation inside.

Slowly, the sorcerer lifted his head, blue hair slipping from his hood. A representation of Lavos itself, the statue shimmered a thousand colors. Yet despite the way it burned his crimson eyes and pale skin Magus found himself unable to blink, much less turn away. If not for the queen's throaty inquiry he might have remained there, a statue himself.

"Beautiful, I know…" she was saying, "I'm pleased you've come to join us in this glorious moment…To witness the birth of Lavos…"

Lavos. That one word snapped the dark wizard back to reality. He glanced at his mother, her smile jubilant, malevolent. Before she could admonish him for the lack of decorum, or worse, Magus genuflected briefly. The queen nodded, pleased, and then started toward the Mammon Machine. His next comment halted her in her tracks, however.

"I have waited for this moment since I was eight years old."

Ignoring his mother's puzzled expression, the self-professed prophet rose and turned his attention to his sister. Magus could see the black circles under her eyes, stripped of her youthful vigor. As if his own eyes had weight, Schala glanced up. She frowned, her face saying a thousand words…

_I forgive you…but I will never forget…_

Magus forced his gaze elsewhere though that hurt worse than Massmune's blade. He'd cut through the web of lies Jarl had spun around him and had, quite literally, sent him to the Void. He'd ensured Janus' salvation, diverted the boy from the dark path he'd fallen into. He'd finally cultivated a business relationship with the queen so he could be able to face his lifelong enemy.

But he failed at the one task that truly mattered—bridging the gap to his sister. For though Schala might be a stone's throw away she might as well be on Woe Mountain. Jarl's deception burned away the delicate trust he'd fostered with her.

_Stop! You cannot despair for Lavos will scent the weakness and destroy you. Save your sorrow for later; they'll be time enough for that._

Her eyes gleaming, drunk in the moment, the queen barked at her daughter, "Schala, raise the Mammon Machine to its limit!"

Hands trembling, Schala cast her gaze about for an exit. Her face drained of color when she realized there was none for her. At that moment, Magus remembered Alura, body ravaged, life snuffed out in one terrifying instant. How had she'd felt as she realized her doom was upon her; was Schala fearing the same? Worse, was she right to fear?

_Ah, sweet darkness…what if, in my confrontation with the monster, she should be slain?_

Why had that awful possibility not occurred to him before?

"Schala!" Queen Zeal's beautiful face was twisted. "You dare disobey me?"

Head bent, Schala whispered, "All right, mother…" Shutting her eyes, the princess channeled to her spectrum of magic. Despite being several feet away, the dark wizard could feel the power as it seeped up from the tiles and invaded her body. The energy was distinctly familiar, akin to his own.

_Akin but not identical…Like light and dark…_

Suddenly his sister started shaking, her body too fragile for the power it wielded. Losing Schala to Lavos might be a premature fear, Magus realized as his lips pressed together. The energy flowing into her might rip the princess apart right then and there. Part of him was screaming to haul her away and flee from their mother…

_Abandon my mission to slay Lavos…?_

As if that same power afflicted him, Magus twitched, indecisive. He'd been so steadfast in his course before…

In an undulating wave the magical energy sprang from Schala to wrap around the Mammon Machine. Again, that light stung his eyes and the dark wizard grimaced, wondering how she bore it. If the mere presence of the light hurt him how did she feel with the power the surging her body?

"Oh…what bright splendor!" The queen cried.

 _Bright, yes,_ thought Magus _. Splendor? I think not._

Crying out, Schala swayed at her feet. Unable to halt himself, the so-called prophet took a step toward her. The princess's ice-cold gaze kept him from continuing, however. Again, Magus cursed Jarl, Dalton, his mother, himself. Again, he questioned the wisdom, the very sanity of his self-imposed task.

His mother sighed in rapture. "I can feel it! The pulse of eternal life!" She threw her head back in laughter, a sound that grated her son's ears.

Light that was more darkness than the shadows themselves flooded into the room from the Mammon Machine. Such was the intensity that it nearly drove Magus to his knees. Even for him, a child of war and death, the experience left him feeling unwholesome. Fear tingled up his arms as he looked upon the waves of shadow-light.

_What has the seeds of my hatred and vengeance wrought? Have I….Have I fallen to the same dark lusts as the Enlightened themselves!_

It was too horrifying a concept to consider and yet there it was surrounding him as the blanket of malevolence….

"D—Dark force…" Schala was gasping, face ashen. "…Wild energy!" Her knees buckled and she slumped to the floor.

Ignoring the looks the attendants shot him, Magus again made his way to his sister. Their confusion and her anger be damned. He would take her in his arms and whisk her away. It was simply too dangerous for Schala to remain, the dark wizard understood now. Once she was safe, he would hurry back and face the demon that was responsible for this personal Void.

_What madness am I thinking…How can I possibly accomplish that?_

One of the attendants spoke, voice shaken. Magus was not the addressed, however. "The Mammon machine…Your majesty, it's too dangerous!" Light blazed from the statue again, causing everyone but Queen Zeal to shield their eyes. Magus cursed as the pain drove into his skull with all the force of a hammer blow.

"Mother!" Schala shouted.

"Don't stop, Schala!" The queen continued to face the statue. Delightful insanity lit up her eyes far more than the evil light could. "We're almost there! Immortality shall be ours! Zeal will have the glory it deserves!" Again, her back arched and again came the laughter. "Too long I have waited…"

 _Too long I have waited…Who said that before, Magus?_ The dark wizard found himself shaking. He wasn't so sure of his mission anymore. The stark vision of his mother's madness imprinted itself onto the dark wizard an image of his own growing insanity. His deceptions, manipulations, his blind thirst for vengeance…

Was it really any different from his mother's? From the Enlightened? From Jarl's?

Just when the sorcerer thought things couldn't get worse, naturally fate decided to defy him. The sound of a door opening drew his sickened gaze away to fall upon three arrivals, pulling him from the dark revelations. A boy. A frog. A princess. Such was the incredulous of the moment that Magus could do nothing but stare and gasp.

The Time Travelers….Yet again!

 _How did they get around Schala's seal_?

"Stop!" Marle cried, waving her arms, blonde ponytail swaying. "Stop this!"

Glenn nodded, green fingers clutching that dreadful Masamune. "We shan't allow thee to meddle with Lavos, Queen!"

Again, Magus's gaze was drawn aside, this time to the sound of rustling robes. Schala was rising, hope shining in her eyes. "You're…! Help!" Those few words seemed to sap her remaining strength for she crumpled down to the tiles once more. The dark wizard longed to go to her but kept himself in check.

He could not, however, check his tongue. "Schala…!"

The power was killing her…The game he played was stealing her life to feed his need for violence. Throughout the long hard years, Magus had assured himself that the demise of Lavos would bring peace to his soul…But what peace would there be if he lost her in the process? Again, part of him warred to get her out of her and the other part fought to stay the course.

"What are you doing, Schala!" their mother demanded. "I need your help here!"

Marle clapped her hands. "Crono, use the knife!"

Glenn seemed to catch on to whatever she was saying for he added urgently. "Yes, Crono, use the old man's knife to stop the machine!"

The old man's knife…? Magus gasped as a familiar pain stabbed into his side. He turned to view Crono as the boy withdrew a dagger. Crono raised it high, light glinting off its slender blade. Then he hurled it at the Mammon Machine. It hit with a loud clang and imbedded in the steel.

"Tis…the Masamune?" Glenn spoke the thought running through the dark wizard's mind.

_Damn it…How? How is that possible…More twisted time frames…Damned fate!_

Then it came, the Black Wind. Louder than anything the prophet had ever heard before it shrieked across the room. Magus was floored by the force, almost literally. That too, had a familiarity and one that filled the dark wizard with a roar of emotions—elation, fear, anger, sorrow and a feeling of finality.

"It's…it's coming!" Though his voice was barely more than whisper it sounded like a scream in his ears.

"No, no! Stop!" Schala's face paled, to match her deathly brother's visage. "The sword alone can't stop it!"

The air bent visibly, a twisted version of viewing the sky through heat. The pain and power rammed into Magus's body like a toppling pillar and his fingers flew up to his temples. He cried out unbidden, eyes squeezing shut. What chance did the sorcerer have if the beast's roar alone did him such damage…

When the prophet opened his eyes the sight before him sent his mind careening to the past. The massive tortoise shell body, the red menacing red eyes, the unbelievably wicked power that might drive a faint-minded innocent mad at the very touch…It came back in a rush and he heart pounded as he interposed the past with the present.

Lavos had been summoned.

Before Magus could begin to sort through the twisted joy at the moment coming at last warring with the questioning of sanity, his mother cast a spell. Just a quickly the image of Lavos vanished, replaced by an odd dark nothingness. Though the instant was to brief even draw breath the dark wizard somehow sensed that some time had passed.

When the chamber rematerialized so did his view of the time travelers—but not as they were. All three lay on the marble flooring, groaning in pools of their own blood. Despite the fact that Magus very much wanted to be the one to slay the creature, this did not cheer him. Had long had they lasted…a minute, two maybe?

And if they couldn't kill Lavos and he couldn't defeat them…

 _Stop that right now, Magus. You're stronger than you were. Wiser. More powerful._ Like a soldier's mantra, the former prince reiterated those words silently. Calling upon his magic, Magus turned to face the beast. His hand closed around the clasp of the Cloak of Concealment. "I've waited for this…"

With his mother climbing the beast and his sister on her hands and knees, Magus tore the garment off. The Black Wind stirred his long blue hair like waves atop a sea. "I've been waiting for you…" he said softly. With a ring of steel, he drew his scythe. "I swore a long time ago…That I'd destroy you!...No matter what the cost!"

_And what a cost it has been…how much will I sell to send this damn thing back to the Void?_

Though his voice was clear his mind swirled as chaotic as the dark light itself.  _This is it, this is it, this is it…the moment, my moment….The day, day of Lavos!_ Magus took a steadying breath afraid he would burn his energy before the bout. All the trials of his life flooded him as he spoke coldly, hatefully. "It is time to fulfill that vow." He smiled as he hoisted the scythe. "Feel my wrath, Lavos!"

There was no need to fear. There was no doubt in his mind that Lavos would be his greatest challenge but the doubt he'd had to take him down was also gone. He was the most powerful wizard this eon and many others. Doubts were for the weak. He was not weak. He was Magus.

Queen Zeal laughed. "What do you think you can do?" She snorted and caressed the creature. That gesture made her son frown. "A false prophet…You'll be snack for the great Lavos!"

Despite her obvious aversion of him, Schala crawled forward. "Mother, please stop, this power can only end in ruin."

"Get away from there, Schala! The almighty life force of Lavos lives in all of us…" The dark wizard's frown deepened. He did not like to be categorized with that beast. His mother shifted on the back of the monster, her hands clenching. "You are a part of it! You cannot change fate now!"

Dark energies spread out from Lavos and Magus recoiled instinctively. The princess also retreated, throwing up her hands. Their mother laughed as she said, "Oppose me and I will destroy you also!"

"Help!" Schala fell away, the raw power of Lavos taking its toil.

The prophet longed to make sure she was alright but he could afford no quarter now. The queen's attention was on him now, and with it, Lavos'. "Come,  _prophet_ , feel the power of Lavos!" The sheer second of distraction, even to glance Schala's way, was too much for a beam struck the dark wizard and dropped him to his knees.

Magus screamed.

Excruciating pain seared through his senses. Not just pain the physical concept—though there was plenty of that—but pain from many heartaches and torture he'd endured all his long years. The loss of Schala. The terror of living in Ozzie's castle. The unspeakable horrors of war, both inflicted and dealt by him.

As if drawing on his suffering, Magus could feel his magic seep away. "My powers are being drained!" he gagged, one hand draped across his knees to keep from falling face down. "I won't be…beaten. I survived the darkness to defeat you, Lavos!" Blocking out the agony of his past and his present, the dark wizard shattered the spell, shards of light flying from his form.

He rose, scythe in hand.

"Take this Lavos!"

Leaning forward and floating few inches from the ground, the dark wizard rushed the creature. The scythe reflected the unholy light as he swung it at Lavos. In the instant Magus attacked, he felt the resistance but could not reverse his stroke fast enough. "Uh, what…It doesn't work!"

Then came the horrifying moment of realizing he'd failed. He could not pierce the monster's shield, barely scratched it even. Like a wave, the power hit him, hurling Magus ten feet in the air. The scythe flew from his fingers and struck the floor a heartbeat before he did, his cape floating up then to wreath his lower body.

_I…failed!_

Now the pain was such that the dark wizard couldn't even scream, couldn't even crouch. Unbidden came the moaning from his mouth and the blood from his wounds. He'd broken several ribs he knew and ruptured at least one vital organ.

_I failed?_

"Foolish one!" His mother hollered. "Your measly power can't touch Lavos. This is from me to you…" Magus groaned as shards of light grazed his eyes. "You shall enjoy eternal life…as a part of Lavos!"

_Eternal life…as a part of Lavos…_

Yes, indeed, there were worse things than dying…

Living, for one.

 _I failed. I failed. I failed._ The concept was too foreign for Magus to consider but he did for he had. He heard the cries from the time travelers, the cries of sister and the laughter from his mother. Even as he lay there, the dark wizard understood that Lavos became ever stronger, drawing upon the magical energies of all those present.

And what would happen when the beast's power could grow no more…

"Magus!" The sorcerer barely had the strength to turn to regard the frog. "Thou art mine to defeat!"

The absurdity of the comment almost made Magus laugh. Almost. He had no energy in which to afford the gesture.

"Haven't you given up yet? What do you hope to do?" It took the dark wizard a full minute to understand that the queen was not addressing him. Why would she—he certainly could pose no threat now…But then who?

"You challenge me with that battered body of yours?"

As Magus titled his head, his mouth gapped at the sight of one of the Time Travelers rising. It was the boy, the leader, Crono. His mother was correct about battered for Crono shook even as he stood and left a bloody footprint as he approached Lavos. Still, his green eyes flashed with…What? Hope? Determination?

Sapphire and white light haloed the boy as he was lifted a dozen feet from the floor. His shadow cast over his friends as if as a shield from their enemy. So intense was the light that Crono could not be seen at the center, could barely be glimpsed at all. Magus marveled at the power, a highly advance level of Luminaire, the Light of Destiny.

But even that was not enough.

The power from Lavos invaded that beautiful light and reaction was violent and immediate. Magus gripped his ears as the combined energy howled, drowning out the Black Winds. To the dark wizard's right Marle and Glenn cried for their friend to cease but whether cared not to, or could not, Crono did not, the light burning as newly-minted Dreamstone.

Living in Ozzie's castle, Magus had seen many a gruesome sight, committed many in fact. But even he gasped at what happened next. As if thrust into a burning pit, Crono's body disintegrated, leaving not enough of him to smoke. The…dust sprayed onto Magus and he shook it off, chilled.

The prophet groaned. He'd lied to himself that mere practice and dedication could make any difference. Crono's demise made that very clear. His lust for vengeance blinded Magus to the truth and his arrogance goaded him on to show the Enlightened their foolishness. But he couldn't fail—for he didn't have a chance to win.

"I….can't beat him….Lavos….!"

Laughter and roars filled the chamber as if to herald the doom upon him. The chamber trembled under the sheer power wielded within its walls. Tiles dropped from the ceiling and the floor rumbled. The new disaster seemed quite at home with all the other disasters facing the prophet.

"Oh, Crono, no, no!" Marle sobbed.

Using his sword as a crutch, Glenn knelt, muttering. "We must plan our escape! The palace crumbles!"

 _And where to will you run, oh dear frog…?_  Magus laughed softly. Escape…The idea was ludicrous. The entire building was self-destructing. No one could hope to flee the length of stairs and hallways in the Ocean Palace before being buried under tons of stone and the very ocean itself.

How often had he referred to the Zeal Kingdom to an ocean?…Powerful but deadly.

_"This power can only end in ruin…"_

How right Schala was.

 _Schala…_ Magus rolled his head to view her. Her blue robes clutched tightly about her she looked like an angel visited by Death. Beautiful yet that beauty was wasting away soon to be smothered under Lavos' power or the collapsing chamber.  _I will tell her_ , he thought.  _I will tell her what I should have told her long ago. I will tell her I am her brother…_ His heart caught in his throat at words running through his mind.

Sadly, he conceded to himself _. I did not hide the truth to protect her from the shock—I hid it to protect myself from the hurt should she reject me._

In midst of the shaking walls, the queen's insanity and Lavos' roaring, Schala struggled toward him. There was no anger in her eyes now, only deep abiding sadness. Perhaps his valiant efforts, however futile, softened the sting and maybe, just maybe, she'd seen a little of the brother who'd taken the Guru's hats and kept a purple cat.

Magus wiped blood off his chin and crawled to his sister. The pain was making him ill and faint but he fought it every step of the way. Let this be his one victory, one small joy that Lavos could not take away. Pain lanced up his side, forcing the sorcerer wrap his arms around his torso. As he opened his mouth to speak, blood poured out. He nearly choked on it.

"The last of my pendant's power will send you to safety. I know you can't forgive her but…"

_What? What is she saying…Send me…away?_

"Please don't hate our mother, or our kingdom. I'm so sorry!"

_Our? Our mother?_

"Now off with you!"

The realization of what the princess was saying hit Magus at roughly the same moment as the light from her pendant did. The world vanished beneath of cone iridescence and spun in sickening circles around the sorcerer. His lips opened in a silent scream. Like he'd reverted to a boy of eight, he shouted her name over and over.

He was separated from her…again.


	11. The Enemy of My Enemy

He dreamed. Discordant dreams, images so horrifying that upon waking he shivered. Dreams of disintegrating bodies, of light darker than shadows, of creatures too evil for this world. Dreams of Zeal falling, of Lavos' roars and his mother laughing. Dreams of his sister fading from sight.

Magus awoke with a start. Sweat shined on his pale forehead, slipping into his crimson eyes. He took a deep breath and tried to orient himself. The dark wizard glanced around his surroundings…a hut? Was he within the Earthbound compound…? No, it was too cold for that, the prophet realized as he drew his crimson cloak close against a sudden chill.

The surface, then. The Terran Continent. How'd he get here?

The dream taunted him, elusive in answers but intense in torment. Magus ignored it. It was after all, just a dream—a visual manifestation of his fears. What day was it? His eyes cast about for his scythe and saw it lying a foot away. He snatched it up, feeling better for being armed.

What day was it? The day of Lavos, yes…But something was not quite right…

As soon as the prophet started to rise darkness swam into his vision. He stumbled back down, confused at his own weakness. By the Reaper, he was injured! Magus could see the slash across his chest, treated with some sort of plant. Stubbornly, the dark wizard climbed to his feet, trying to piece the last few days together…

"Ah, you're up!"

Magus' grip tightened on his scythe as he looked up. The Earthbound Elder stood in the archway with a Zealian woman at his side. It was the Elder who'd spoken, his crinkled skin forming a smile. "You are fortunate to have survived. When they brought you to me, I'd feared you'd dead. So, now that you're awake might I ask  _who_  you are?"

Ignoring the question, the dark wizard snapped, "Survived what?"

Stepping into the hut, the Enlightened offered him a tray of food but the prophet lifted his weapon in warning. Unafraid she merely set to task cleaning the hut. It startled Magus to see that. An Enlightened…cleaning! He glanced sharply at the Elder. Even for one of his stature, the lowest of the Zealians would outrank him…He should be the one tidying up….

What in the Void had happened?

He couldn't keep the note of hysteria from his voice. " _Survived what_?"

The Elder and the Enlightened exchanged looks. She answered as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, as if she spoke of the color of sky. "The fall of Zeal."

_Lost and irreplaceable…_

For a moment, all the prophet could do was deny it. Desperately, Magus fought off the evidence—a Zealian deferring to an Earthbound, his presence in the hut, his wounds, his dreams—but one by one the words stabbed into his heart. His legs failed him and the dark wizard slumped to the dirt floor.

Both the Elder and the Zealian woman moved to help him, but the shine of madness in his eyes made them keep their distance. Under his own power, Magus rose, scythe in hand. Despite the knowledge part of him would never believe until he saw, with his own eyes, the empty sky. The Elder and the woman were speaking but he was too fast on his feet to hear or care.

As he hurried from the hut, the dark wizard bowled over an Earrthbound but didn't even look back. Several Enlightened stared at him in shock or amusement, huddled around a fire and the naked trees. They also did not exist for Magus. He pleaded, as his gaze lifted, that he was still dreaming.

A bright afternoon sky greeted him. An empty sky.

The Kingdom of Zeal was gone.

"No…" Like a man faced with his own death and unwilling to acknowledge it, Magus scanned the skies feverishly, twice, thrice and many times over. The mask he'd so tightly fit over his face slowly cracked and for once, the sorcerer didn't care that others saw that. Didn't care that one tear, then another and many others, slowly made their way down his cheeks.

As fifteen years ago when Ozzie's assassin had first attacked a young Janus and drove him insane, this pain led him to the old madness. Ah, madness was on old friend of his, for many bloody days and nights. Magus had thought the insanity cured or at least controlled. He had erred. A filter of madness visited his mind.

_I'm afraid._

_I'm lonely._

_Why don't my mother love me?_

_Where is my sister?_

_Where am I?_

_Who am I?_

_What am I?_

_Am I?_

_I?_

"Are you alright?" one of the Earthbound women asked, two Zealian guards flanking her. Tears frozen upon his face, his heart frozen in chest, Magus stared at her blankly. Slowly reality and sanity crawled back into his head, long enough for him to give throaty affirmative. There was doubt upon her face which was reflected tenfold by her colleagues but she and they left him alone.

The moment of madness frightened the dark wizard far greater than he wanted to admit.  _I cannot remain here…_ But where was he to go? He'd lost his homeland, for whatever that was worth. He'd lost his family…Magus swallowed against the overwhelming despair lest it overtake him again. He could feel the eyes of the Enlightened and Earthbound on him, some with pity, some with suspicion. His hand closed around the scythe as the dark wizard finally picked his path.

Not really picked; Magus had no destination and no real direction. Snow up to his knees kept the process slow but for the first time since returning to this time, the self-professed prophet had no deadline. The firelight of the encampment dimmed as he trudged further and further away. That suited him just fine. Magus could barely stand to be with himself—the presence of others was driving him crazy.

_If I'm not already._

Sleet slashed into his face but he welcomed it, welcomed anything that pulled his mind from the thought of the disaster. Head bent low, scythe trailing the snow, Magus trekked a loosely northwestern direction. As he drew nearer and nearer to a hill, he recognized his destination as the same place where he and Jarl had discussed Alura's death and the imminent fall of Zeal.

_How appropriate…_

And, always, the empty sky followed.

Determined to escape the implications of that, Magus stumbled into the cave on the side of the hill. It was uninhabited but that came as little surprise. Any sane creature would have abandoned this harsh terrain long ago. Considering what happened, the Terran Continent would soon see a rebirth of sorts, the melting of the Ice Age.

That wouldn't be for a while, of course. Approximately a few thousands years if he estimated correctly.

Magus threw his scythe down and backed into a corner, sliding down to the floor. He felt cold, numb and not all of it from his hike up here. Again, the tears came and this time, the Great Magus, prince and prophet and ruler, could not dismiss them. He sobbed bitterly, angrily, cursing fate, his mother, Lavos and himself.

_I've lost everything…except my pitiful life…A life I no longer want…_

His shoulders shook as cried, ears deaf to the shrieking of the outside wind. Memories stormed the dark wizard. All the times he'd excused some injustice visited on him or on others from him with the ultimate destruction of Lavos. All the times he'd placed that barrier to his emotions and to the pain because he thought it would serve him when he finally met his sister again. All of it felt so pointless now…

His whole life was meaningless….

Slowly, his face lifted from his hands, his gaze falling on his discarded scythe. The physical wounds he'd suffered with the encounter with Lavos would heal—they were almost already. But the wound to his soul would fester making him wish he'd died but denying him that peace because he hadn't…

_Is it true…what the Enlightened say…that when we die…we go to see loved ones?_

As if of its own accord, Magus's hand crawled to the weapon. He touched it briefly and drew a deep breath. Then one by one his fingers wrapped around the hilt. His eyes shut tight and the dark wizard conjured up pleasant memories: memories of playing hide and seek with Schala, of petting his cat, of any moment that could stem the fear of what he was about to do.

_You bastard Lavos! You destroyed everything I treasured and then left me to live in darkness again. You will not have the pleasure of seeing me live a life chosen by you!_

The blade touched his throat…

"Well, I fail to see the point of  _that_."

Startled, the dark wizard nearly dropped his weapon as he opened his eyes to the sound. Standing to blot out the snow in his opulent blue robes was Zephyrain. The wizard shook his head from side to side, white hair fanning out. A disgruntled expression was clearly displayed on his face and he added, "After all, that won't help matters."

Magus' lips pulled back to expose teeth. "Shut up old man and leave me be!"

The wizard's hands lifted. "Alright, it's your choice to let Lavos win…I bet he's laughing his head off because he doesn't even have to kill you—you'll take care of that for him!"

With a sigh, the prophet lowered his scythe. Had he the passion, Magus might have cleaved the impudent old man in two. But he did not and so muttered, "Speak your piece and be gone."

Blue cloak trailing behind him, the wizard paced about the cave, tapping a finger to his lips. "Hmmm…So, looks like old Lavos blew up the kingdom again. Not exactly the fairytale ending, huh?" When Magus lifted his weapon again, Zephyrain frowned and continued in another vein, "Moving on…anyway, since you lost everything, again, I figured you'd be a bit more open to my suggestion this time around."

Curiosity finally overcame despair and the dark wizard drew up to his full height. He dwarfed the wizard easily by a foot but the man didn't seem even the slightest disconcerted. That bothered Magus. He was use to inspiring fear in others. As he considered the bizarre man, the words he'd spoken finally sunk in.

"You cannot mean that idiotic request to join those damn time-travelers!" His face flushed in anger. He had no personal vendetta against the others but Magus wouldn't even consider allying himself with Glenn.  _Not as if that frog would stay his hand either. Especially not if he knows that by my death the curse around him will vanish._

"A pebble may do nothing but a few stones thrown together might change the course of history…"

Magus sneered. "You've said that before. What possible use of them could I make? They didn't defeat Lavos…"

"And neither did you…but they did beat  _you_!"

"Don't remind me," the dark wizard snarled. He was tiring of this debate. "At least I didn't get myself killed like their stupid leader."

As if pleased by that observation, Zephyrain clapped his hands. "Yes, which is precisely how you will help them. They will come here in two days, after all, looking for a way to bring him back. To earn their trust you will tell them of the Chrono Trigger." The wizard's blue eyes shut and he fell into a trance.

" _Once lost life is not reclaimable by normal mortal means. The only avenue of resurrection lies in defying time as it struck the blow, trigging a moment of suspension in time. There the lost one can be replaced and time restored. Only one artifact can do this without damaging the integrity of time: The Chrono Trigger."_

"Myth." Magus waved his hand dismissively and turned to face the cave opening. His eyes narrowed as he watched the storm. "And should an artifact even exist I would use it for Schala and not that foolish boy."

Taken aback, the wizard said plainly. "But you can't use it on the living…" He bit his lip after the words popped out. "Err, um, nevermind."

Hair and cape swirling, the prophet turned to face Zephyrain. His face drained of color and the scythe fell from nerveless fingers. "The living…! You mean Schala is…." Motes of dust magic floated around the old wizard making him too insubstantial for Magus to grab him. "No, wait, damn you! Tell me, is she…!"

"Oh, dear, I've said too much…Seek out Gaspar; he will know how to help you…And remember: should one know how to bend the Wings of Time to his will he can alter the flow of time…"

And then he was gone. Stunned the prophet backed against the cavern wall needing the hard flat surface to steady him. Could he even dare to dream that his sister had survived the fall of Zeal? Placing that within the realm of possibility might rend the last of his sanity should it prove untrue…but if there was even the slightest hint of hope...?

Then he would take it. If he did not Magus would have nothing else left to live for. Then another thought danced at the fringes of mind. Hot blood pulsed through his veins, dispelling the winter chill. He could not defeat Lavos. They could not defeat Lavos. But what if they should work together…

Two days he'd said. Magus could wait that long. He could wait for all of time, in fact.

***

"Some Time Travelers…can't even keep a bloody date of two days…Time Fools is more like it…Yes, that sounds more like it…." Magus grumbled to the dark skies, the naked trees, the freezing wind—anything and everything. The former prince swore as he slipped on a patch of ice he'd mistaken for a snow dune.

His time was unlimited—but his patience wasn't.

Over his shoulder, the sorcerer hefted a sack of food, a change of clothing, and a few items to make his habitation of the cave more comfortable until the Time Travelers got back from…whatever stupid errand they were on. Zephyrain had claimed they would be here in two days yet three had already passed. For a prophet he could be extraordinarily shortsighted about the near future…

Late Time Travelers, prophets that couldn't predict a simple event…Magus chuckled darkly. Yes, they didn't call it the Dark Ages for nothing. Magus cursed again, as another slab of ice deceived him and shifted swiftly beneath his feet. He crashed to his knees, the bag flying over his head to land in a heap a few feet ahead of the former prince.

Good thing the cave was only a dozen yards away. Clearly, Magus had not recovered so well after his battle—if one could call his pitiful attack against Lavos's overwhelming power a battle—as he'd initially believed. That, and the former mystic leader had overextended himself while scouring the coast for Schala.

Magus's hand stretched out for the bag and his fingers barely touched it when he heard a soft noise. His hand halted. What was that? A baby? Out here? He listened, his body as still as the stones poking out from the snow. There it was again! No child was that. An animal, and, from the sound of it, gravely wounded.

Lying five feet ahead of him and to the right was a purple cat, its lower left paw in the teeth of a vicious rabbit trap.

"Meow…"

"Alfador!" The wizard's crimson eyes widened. Magus ignored his bag and rushed to the side of his injured pet. It was most definitely Alfador; the cat even meowed as if in recognition of its long-lost master. Blood pooled his lower body with more seeping out from where his paw was entrapped.

Why had the cat sought him out….and, more astonishingly, how had he found him?

Magus shook his head. No time to ponder that now. A hand upon its chest revealed to him a very weak life-beat. Quickly, the former prince glanced at his scythe then shook his head. No doubt that the weapon could cut through the trap with ease but the risk to Alfador was too great. He drew a knife, one he'd bartered off an Earthbound.

The snow and wind continued its assault on the wizard's pale face but he did not draw his gaze from his task; dared not. A single misstep and he could kill the cat. Magus already lost too much in his life to suffer another disaster—he wasn't sure his fragile state of mind would endure the death of his pet without the madness going after him again.

"Hang in there, Alfador."

_Damn you, this had better work! Don't you die on me Alfador! Don't you leave me like everyone else!_

The work was slow and painful. Alfador barely moved, as if understanding its master's intent…that, or more evidence of his failing strength. Magus cursed as the trap snapped back into place around the cat's leg a second before he could slip Alfador free. The former prince had almost gotten himself stuck along with the cat.

And then, mercifully, the cat was free. With a single determined tug and the trap jerked open long enough for Magus to haul the leg out. Alfador meowed as its master took him up in his arms. Magus glared hatefully at the trap, considering blowing it to bits with a lighting bolt. The impulse faded. He certainly better things to use his waning magic reserves on.

And there was a cat to consider.

The sorcerer lifted his bag from the snow and slung it over his shoulder again, careful to keep Alfador cradled in his left arm. It was an awkward position and it slowed his pace to the cave but fortunately the distance was not far. Stepping inside, Magus shrugged off his bag and then gently laid the cat as near the fire as he dared.

 _Now how does one go about helping a wounded animal?_ Granted being a general of an army and then the dictator of a nation, Magus knew well of wounds having dealt countless himself. But he'd rarely had the opportunity to do any healing as his repertoire of spells did not include a single healing incantation. And, before that, being a prince meant that he'd never had to actually care for his pet regarding illness or injury.

Magus frowned as he saw the little golden eyes droop and heard the breathing becoming fainter and fainter. He did what he could to dress the wound and that seemed to help but Alfador needed nourishment the wizard knew. Rummaging through his bag, Magus drew forth a carrot then frowned. Like a cat, Alfador ignored it. The bread did no good either.

The wizard cursed his lack of foresight. Some prophet he was; not having anticipated the need to bring some meat.

_If Alfador dies while I trek back to the village for fish…_

Magus's eyes lit up and he snapped his fingers. "Just stay with me a bit longer, Alfador." A hand on his scythe, the sorcerer darted out of the cave. The harsh winds battered his form but the wizard ignored it as he rushed down to the ocean's edge. Naturally, the water was frozen and would be until very far out.

Glad to vent the frustration of the past few days, the sorcerer bashed the ice with his scythe and blasted it with great gouts of fire. Under that persecution it didn't take long for the surface to crack open a sizable hole one that the over-eager former prince almost staggered into in his haste.

Gritting his teeth, Magus thrust his hand into the hole. He gasped as the chilly waters pierced his glove but the sorcerer did not recoil; rather he shoved the hand farther down. For a few precious minutes, the fish eluded his grasp. Finally his efforts were rewarded when a single foolish fish lingered a moment too long and Magus drew it, squirming, out of the crack. One stab from his knife ended its struggles.

Magus returned to the cave, heart beating to an unseen drum. Every muscle in his body twitched as he saw Alfador lying still as death upon his cape. The sorcerer fell to his knees by the cat and shook him. For one terrifying moment, Alfador did not respond. Then he stirred, meowing piteously.

"Eat Alfador," he said as he pushed the fish to the cat's nose. "Just nibble a bit. It'll help you restore your strength." Magus took a deep breath as his own injuries from the disaster at Zeal pained from the recent exertion. His vision started to tunnel but the dark wizard snarled and shook it off. "Alfador, eat!" Finally, Magus resorted to slashing up the skin and sticking a few pieces into the cat's mouth.

Miraculously, Alfador chewed. Magus cheered softly.

"Meow…"

After the cat ate what appeared his fill, the sorcerer lifted the little body into his lap and sat down against the cavern wall. He stroked the purple fur, taking comfort in the task as he had in the past. Again, his sight dimmed and this time Magus could not dismiss it. His eyes shut and his body slumped. He could faintly hear purring.

Magus smiled…and then slept.

***

"Pray thee, do not get thy hopes up. We do not yet know if thy lad is alive."

Startled awake, Magus's eyes burst open, crimson as the expired fire. He felt wetness on his chin and glanced down to see Alfador licking it. Groaning, the wizard gently shoved the cat off him. He was pleased that the cat was back to his old self, purring and demanding attention. Absentmindedly, the sorcerer stroked the purple fur.

The Time Travelers….

"About damn time," the wizard muttered as he collected his cloak and his scythe. As Magus left the cave, Alfador dogged his feet for a few steps. The cat grew bored quickly, though, and chased after a rabbit that had poked out behind a tree. Chuckling, the wizard turned his attention to his visitors. Now that cat and master had been reunited he was sure to find Alfador when the caprice struck him

"There's always hope, right? The old man said that someone was looking for us! Who else could it be?" a female voice said.

Magus laughed. Stupid girl. The boy had been incinerated…the sorcerer doubted there was enough left of him to sweep up.

"Marle, I know this is hard to accept but you must consider that it's unlikely to be Crono waiting for us here…"

Letting the power surge through his body, the wizard floated up higher and higher, his cloak rippling out like flames. Magus crested the hill, his appearance drawing a course of gasps from those waiting. He did not hurry to meet and greet them; did not want them to know of his eagerness and impatience.

Nor did Magus exhibit his pain and sorrow; after all, right now they were his enemies.

_And what they shall become only time can tell._

Smirking lazily, the sorcerer lightly touched the grass with his feet. The hill was the only part of the Terran Continent still spouting vegetation. Magus's hand grazed the scythe's hilt, a warning. That did not pass without notice or recourse. The three Time Travelers—Marle, the princess, Lucca, the inventor and, of course, Frog—kept their weapons near.

"Oh, it's you…" Magus said the smile still firmly in place.

"Magus!" The ring of steel cut the cold air as Masamune came cleanly out of her sheath.

He was tempted to say "In the flesh" but thought that sounded a bit too much like the silly Zephyrain. Instead, he took a deep breath and then launched into his speech. Maybe he'd win a few sympathy points from the girls; maybe not. It was worth a try. Magus had certainly devoted enough time into it the last few days.

"Behold!" His arms spread wide and high. "Everything's at the bottom of the sea…" His gaze lowered to the ocean, stunned by how the images of his past sprang upon the surface. Though it was only his mind's eye it felt so very real to the sorcerer. His voice wavered as Magus continued.

"Gone is the magical Kingdom of Zeal and all the dreams and ambitions of her people." To even utter the words cut to his soul and even threatened to rip the mask right off his face. Only through force of will did his face not reveal the torment inside as Magus turned to gaze at his audience.

They were captivated. Could be no more captive than if he'd cast a spell upon them. His smile returned, half amused, half-bitter. This was what his life had come down to—an interesting tale to be told during tea time or around a campfire. Magus himself had a hard time believing the past few days. Relating about them felt like he spoke of someone else.

"I lived there once…but I was different person then."

Again, the images sprang to life before the former prince. The memories flooded him and he could no more resist them than the power of Lavos. His fateful first encounter with that very beast. His separation from his beloved sister. His falling within Ozzie's hands and the first few steps that led him into the darkness.

All through this they listened, not questioning. Their inquiries might not have mattered anyway. Magus was as enthralled with his own tale as they were, suspended in the past. Only after another struggle did the wizard pull out to keep his face neutral, disdainful even. Earn a few sympathy points would be an advantage but not at the price of his dignity.

He'd not lost all his pride though that, too, had suffered a major blow

"So! Thou art…Thou art that filthy urchin!" Glenn's snout flared.

Magus sighed. As a child he'd endured worse names than that. He suspected Janus's prophecy—for that it proved to be, stunning Magus himself—upset them, perhaps especially because they took no heed of it.  _You and me both, Time Travelers….we both saw and heard the signs that our respective goals were beyond our reach and still we went after them._

Blinking, the former prince trailed on, smiling sadly. "Ever since Lavos's time portal stranded me in the Middle Ages….I have waited to even the score." His smile soured to a frown. "You interrupted me just when I had summoned Lavos to my castle." The frown deepened. "How ironic that having been drawn into another portal I would even up in this era…"

Damn fate and her ironies!

"Being from the future my knowledge from the past enabled me to convince the Queen—" He would never again refer to that woman as his mother "—that I was a mighty oracle. But no history book—"  _Including Zephyrain's,_ thought Magus "—could have prepared me for what happened there."

His voice lost all dimension, like a wraith's. "Unimaginable is the power of Lavos…Anyone who dares oppose….it…meets certain doom…" Now his frown twisted back to a smile, or rather, a smirk. The next few words came out before he gave them due thought. "Just like that poor fool, Crono!"

 _That probably won't help my case…_ Still, Magus couldn't resist the jab. His own attempt at Lavos was foolish enough; Crono's was suicidal. Obviously. As anticipated his words heated the expression of his audience. Lucca had to restrain Marle else the princess might have thrown herself at the sorcerer and choke him. The inventor herself was more composed though her own eyes blazed.

Glenn spoke, his voice acidic. "You dare insult him!"

Laughing wasn't conducive to good fellowship either, but the former prince couldn't help himself. "He's history!"  _Literally._  "Play with fire and you get burned!"

Storm clouds flashed in the frog's green eyes. Anger…and sorrow. Magus glanced away, experiencing an unexpected emotion: guilt. It scrapped against his conscience. He'd suffered greatly when Zeal crumbled but his loss was the same as theirs. They'd all lost someone near and dear to the heart. His taunting only poked at those wounds and certainly wouldn't help his case.

But did he really care to make this work, anyway? Two days ago the answer would have been a grudging yes but now…

Magus shook his head. Zephyrain's suggestion was the height of stupidity. There was no hope for them to work together. He still hated them for interfering with his summoning of Lavos and they didn't like or trust him that was clear, especially Glenn. The frog would probably be glad to see him dead.

Slowly, softly, the former prince felt the breeze upon his cheek. It wasn't the natural touch of winter. There was a malignancy in the air and he knew it well: The Black Wind. A fight right about now might be ill-advised. Still, Magus clenched a fist. If they didn't settle this up now, one way or the other, he'd always be worrying that they'd planning to mess up his next venture.

"Do you wish to fight me?"

There. Said. Done.

The afternoon sun danced along Masamune's blade as she slipped back into her sheath.

"Vanquishing thee will neither return Crono nor Cyrus."

Magus mouth fell open momentarily. At first, the sorcerer figured Glenn was afraid of him but one look at the frog's face dismissed that. The eyes showed no fear—only a tired sorrow. Tired of seeing friends die and tired of fighting losing battles. Glenn waved to his friends and started silently down the hill. Muttering between themselves, both girls followed him.

Why had they not taken him up on the offer? And why did their refusal upset him?

 _Maybe I was harsh on them because I wanted them to accept my challenge._ The emotions played upon his face so the sorcerer turned away, his sapphire-shaded hair fanning out.  _Maybe I'm too much of a coward to try to confront Lavos again. Maybe I was hoping to derive some joy out slaying them…Or that they could end my misery by slaying me._

Maybe Lavos had killed him for he was as dead as Crono.

"Wait!"

The Time Travelers halted.

"….I'll come with you."

 _What am I doing? These are my enemies…_ But they were also the enemy of Lavos. They also evidently had access to some time-traveling device. With them, he might yet achieve the two goals the dark wizard had longed for nearly his whole life—the destruction of Lavos and the recovery of his sister.

"Treachery!" Glenn's hand went to Masamune's hilt. The girls tensed up, as if expecting their friend to attack Magus at any moment. Magus himself wasn't so sure he wouldn't. The frog might decline open challenge but if he thought that the sorcerer planned to infiltrate them and then eliminate them…

He had to earn their trust and fast.

Magus smiled. He knew their one weakness…

"You know, there just might be a way to bring him back…"

The three tried hard to seem indifferent and disbelieving but the hope shined in their eyes. Marle gasped, hands going to her mouth while Lucca bit her lip. The frog's hand didn't leave the sword's hilt but the wizard could read from his stance that he would not draw it. Taking a few cautious steps forward, Magus stopped when Glenn spoke.

"Nonsense!" But Glenn's tone didn't match his words. He, too, wondered, hopeful.

Extending his hands out wide in an innocuous gesture, Magus smiled. It was as benign as he could make it, which wasn't very coming from him but the sorcerer couldn't manage better. This decision had not come lightly to him and it still grated at his solitary nature. "Gaspar, the Guru of Time, knows how to restore lost or misplaced time streams…"

That did it. He saw their resolve to refuse vanish as mist in the morning sun. The three exchanged glances, mistrustful but in full agreement. He would be allowed within their midst but Magus knew they would be keeping an eye on him. The sorcerer smiled and nodded. Good for them. He'd be watching them carefully too.

With an irritated wave, and Glenn indicated that the wizard should go ahead of him.

_Allying with my enemies…Taking the advice of a crazy old man… I have totally lost it._

Insanity never felt so good.


	12. Epilogue

_…after a long and arduous battle we defeated her. She died by my hand and in my hands. As much as I loath to admit it, a part of my soul died with her. Her blood will stain my clothes and her madness will forever stain my mind. I made no effort to clean it off—my companions thought me odd for that. I cared not. I needed the reminder of her foolishness to curb my own…_

Each word held Meredith spellbound. For the past few days the cave was filled with her voice articulating the prophet's deepest secrets. There were times that voice rang with laughter One such time was when Magus detailed his prank of hiding the guru's hats. Other times her voice lowered, anguished as he recounted his first slaying.

Munching on some buttered bread Ian only half-listened to the young woman as she expounded on Magus's history. She knew the youth discounted many of the statements—thinking them either understatements to cover the prophet's inadequacies or exaggerations to buff up his case.

Meredith didn't care. He was a silly Earthbound boy and wouldn't understand anyway.

What she did care about, however, was that this beautiful read was coming to an end. This was the last page. Anxiety crawled up her throat. What was that end? Was the prophet dead as all others thought…as she herself had acknowledged as possible from time to time? Had he at last beaten the evil creature that had stolen every joy from his life?

… _at long, long last we were here. I did not recognize the core of this creature but its very presence felt like evil breathed straight into my heart. Never had I dreamed that I would stand here so close to Lavos, my former enemies now my allies for this final fight. I looked at my companions…they looked at me…_

… _It was time…_

The writing ended there.

"What? No!" Meredith's cry tore through the cavern. Shocked out of his half-sleep, Ian leapt to his feet and dashed over to her. She held the book tightly, eyes scanning the blank page as if to will more of the prophet's writings to appear. Worried, Ian tried to console her with a hand on her shoulder but Meredith just shrugged him off.

"That's it…There's no more."

"Oh." Ian's blonde eyebrows climbed high on his forehead. "Maybe he really is—"

"No!" The aspiring prophetess's face burned with anger. "He's not. He's just…not. I know it. I feel it. He just didn't…have time to finish! He can still be found. I'd thought he might have perished but I just can't believe that anything could never defeat him…" Sadness washed over her face and the book fell from her fingers.

Ian snatched it up, peering at the spine. "Meredith, this book is over a hundred years old. There's no way he could still be alive."

He offered her a sympathy smile but all that won the youth was an even angrier Meredith. She stormed about the cave, her form losing detail as the magical blue flames went out one by one. "I don't know…" Then her eyes lit up as the last fire died. "He's Zealian! I know the elder said that some Zealians lived longer than Earthbounds…"

Ian smiled. "A Zealian? We're not even sure he is one."

She bristled. "He is so! He has blue hair."

"We're not even sure he has blue hair. I say he's an Earthbound and—"

"I am no Earthbound! Say that again and I'll cut out your throat!"

Much to Meredith's amusement, Ian gave a most singularly satisfying yelp. Both stepped back, awestruck, as a shadow appeared at the cave's entrance. That shadow shifted, as if observing them and then stepped into the light. Neither could make out much of the newcomer's features for the entire body was covered in navy-blue robes.

Softly, the words were repeated, revealing his gender: male. "I am no Earthbound." Then, Meredith didn't know why but she felt that he smiled, sardonically. "…though I am starting to lose my blue hair." He lifted a single shaft of sapphire and inspected the slight shine of silver. Sighing, he released it. "Now, speak quickly and truthfully—what are you doing here?"

As if slapped silent by his presence neither the so-called prophetess nor the youth could come up with a comment. Ian because he was scared silly; Meredith because she was so overwhelmed by the sudden manifestation of her dream she couldn't push the words past her mouth. Here was the man she'd given her whole life to meet…

_Can it truly be….him? Magus?_

With a sigh of irritation, the cloaked man waved his hand dismissively. "You know what? I really don't care. Just leave. I have things to do." Not waiting to see if his order had been carried out, he took to examining the cave, fingers lightly brushing the tabletop. His gaze flew from bookcase to bookcase, clearly searching for…

"My pendant? Where is it?"

Jolted to action, Ian rushed over to the man with the pendant. "Ugh, here, Magus."

Meredith frowned deeply. "Great Lord Magus!"

"Urm, Great Lord Magus, here it is!"

The prophetess studied the man's stance carefully, fearful of any displeasure. Ian's lack of proper decorum wore on her patience and she worried that it bothered Magus too. Still, it didn't seem to for the prophet snatched it up without a word. For a moment, his gaze was steady on the necklace; then, with a sigh of relief, dropped it into his pocket.

"Lord Magus?" Meredith ventured, stepping over to the cloaked man. The prophet didn't acknowledge her, his hands flying to the books again. Several fell to floor as they did not interest him but one caught his attention and he brought it to the table. After a minute, the man gave a grunt, his answer. It was also an admission.

_It is him! It is Magus!_

"Did you defeat it? Did you save the world?" Her hands couldn't remain still.

There was lilting, biting laughter. "The world's still standing isn't it?"

Staring at the bent figure of the prophet, his fingers casually flipping the page of a book, Meredith simply could contain herself no longer. This was the moment she'd give her life for. Gasping softly, the so-called prophetess stumbled to her knees, snaring his gloved hand. "Please, oh great Magus, let me be a part of your great plans to restore the Kingdom of Zeal. I am your humble servant…Give me purpose, give me life…."

Magus tore free. His voice was as winter winds. "What manner of a fool are you? Restore the Kingdom of Zeal? Madness…." Then his head titled, considering. "Ah, I know who you are now…You're the person who read my manuscript….the fool I tried to turn from a dark path…" His shoulders shook as he laughed. "And you understood nothing of what you read!"

Flushing, Meredith climbed to her feet. His words were like a hand stealing into her chest and ripping out her heart. Hot tears came to her eyes but she did not give into them. All her dreams, all her hopes…like a discarded cup he cast them away. Did he not share her ambitions? Did he not defeat the evil Lavos to bring glory back to his people?

As if those thoughts traced along her forehead, Magus sighed softly. "I see. You are a fool…as I once was." Meredith bit her lip as the prophet withdrew the pendant and held it aloft. His tone was harsh and filled with pain. "I thought I had it all figured out too, until…" As his head rose further, his blue cowl flew away.

Meredith gasped. Half of his hair had turned silver and his face…It was paler than she'd imagined, with black circles surrounding sunken eyes. This was not the immaculate, powerful prophet she'd envisioned. This was a broken man, a bitter man, a lost man. She'd pinned her hopes on him and found it left wanting…

A few tears slipped down her cheeks. It was all too much to bear.

"Power has a price. Ambition steals the soul. Vengeance alters a person…My mother learned that, too late. I learned that, too late…" Magus fixed his fiery eyes upon her again, smiling that smile he knew how to use so well. A soft wind began to blow…where it came from could not be told. "Will you join us? Will you join the damned?"

Shaken to the core, Meredith took a step backwards. "Is that what you see in my future?"

"A prophecy?" Ian asked. Meredith had forgotten he was even still there.

His eyes narrowed, amused, dangerous. Magus's eyes dropped to the pages and he quoted from them, voice both oddly sharp and soft.  _"For she shall hand herself over to doom willingly, gleefully and doom will receive her…_ "Then Magus's face hardened. His gaze was distant, glazed, his eyes and mind far away.

Now the winds swept through the cave with a vengeance. Ian squealed, casting his gaze about worriedly. Having studied the history of the prophet for years, Meredith understood the significance of the wind and its source—she was looking at it. She shivered, but not so much from the cold. Her soul shivered from what the winds implied.

Ill omen. Evil fate. A destiny with death…

 _No_ , thought Meredith,  _this was not the dream I'd envisioned. He is right. I am a fool._ The confession struck deep and hard, like a blade…or like a fire, for it may have burned her but it also cleansed her. Going back to living life as an ordinary mortal, bereft of her dream…But then, what worse fate awaited one who gazed up at the sun so long they lost their sight?

"I'm leaving. Now."

Magus hardly seemed to care. His gaze returned to the book.

"Ian, let's go."

"Rightio!" Ian hurried over to her side and she didn't wait for him to stop for Meredith grabbed his arm and spun him around. Purple robes whistling across the pentagram, face pale in the blue firelight, she led Ian toward the exit. She did not look back. She would not give the prophet the satisfaction of again seeing the pain in her eyes…

Nor did she want to see the pain in his.

Had Meredith glanced over her shoulder, she'd have seen Magus lift up the discarded book, dust it off then set pen to parchment.

The story was not over.


End file.
